MOTO 


DLDEN  GATE 


MILY    POST 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BY  MOTOR  TO 
THE  GOLDEN  GATE 


BY  MOTOR 

to  the 

GOLDEN  GATE 


BY 

EMILY  POST 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH 
PHOTOGRAPHS  and.  ROAD  MAPS 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

D.   APPLETON   AND    COMPANY 

1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  BT 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


COPTBIQHT,   1915,   BT  P.  F.  COLLIKB  &  SOU,  ISC. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


EM 


TO 
MY  YOUNGER  SON 

BRUCE 


LIBRARY 


PREFACE 

"Qui  s 'excuse  s 'accuse."  Which,  I  suppose,  proves 
this  a  defence  to  start  with!  But  having  been  a  few 
times  accused,  there  are  a  few  explanations  I  want  very 
much  to  make. 

When  this  cross-continent  story  was  first  suggested, 
it  seemed  the  simplest  sort  of  thing  to  undertake.  All 
that  was  necessary  was  to  put  down  experiences  as  they 
actually  occurred.  No  imagination,  or  plot  or  charac- 
terization— could  anything  be  easier?  But  when  the 
serial  was  published  and  letters  began  coming  in,  it  be- 
came unhappily  evident  that  writing  fact  must  be  one 
of  the  most  unattainably  difficult  accomplishments  in  the 
world. 

In  the  first  place,  only  those  who,  having  lived  long 
in  a  particular  locality  and  knowing  it  in  all  its  vary- 
ing seasons,  are  qualified  truly  to  present  its  picture. 
The  observations  of  a  transient  tourist  are  necessarily 
superficial,  as  of  one  whose  experiences  are  merely  a 
series  of  instantaneous  impressions;  at  one  time  colored 
perhaps  too  vividly,  at  another  fogged ;  according  to  the 
sun  or  rain  at  one  brief  moment  of  time. 

It  would  be  very  pleasant  to  write  nothing  but  eulo- 
gies of  people  and  places,  but  after  all  if  a  personal 
narrative  were  written  like  an  advertisement,  praising 
everything,  there  would  be  no  point  in  praising  anything, 
would  there? 

Compared  with  crossing  the  plains  in  the  fifties,  the 
vii 


PREFACE 

worst  stretch  of  our  most  uninhabited  country  is  today 
the  easiest  road  imaginable.  There  are  no  longer  any 
dangers,  any  insurmountable  difficulties.  To  the  rugged 
sons  of  the  original  pioneers,  comments  upon  "poor 
roads" — that  are  perfectly  denned  and  traveled-over 
highways — or  " poor  hotels" — where  you  can  get  not  only 
a  room  to  yourself,  but  steam  heat,  electric  light,  and 
generally  a  private  bath — must  seem  an  irritatingly 
squeamish  attitude.  "Poor  soft  weaklings"  is  probably 
not  far  from  what  they  think  of  people  with  such  a  point 
of  view. 

On  the  other  hand  if  I,  who  after  all  am  a  New  Yorker, 
were  to  pronounce  the  Jackson  House  perfect,  the  City 
of  Minesburg  beautiful,  the  Trailing  Highway  splendid, 
everyone  would  naturally  suppose  the  Jackson  House 
a  Ritz,  Minesburg  an  upper  Fifth  Avenue,  and  the  Trail- 
ing Highway  a  duplicate  of  our  own  state  roads,  to  say 
the  least ! 

I  am  more  than  sorry  if  I  offend  anyone — it  is  the 
last  thing  I  mean  to  do — at  the  same  time  I  think  it  best 
to  let  the  story  stand  as  it  was  written ;  taking  nothing 
back  that  seems  to  me  true,  but  acknowledging  very  hum- 
bly at  the  outset,  that  after  all  mine  is  only  one  out  of 
a  possible  fifty  million  other  American  opinions. 


CONTENTS 


PAQS 

I.  IT  CAN'T  BE  DONE— BUT  THEN,  IT  Is  PER- 
FECTLY SIMPLE 1 

IE.     ALBANY,  FIRST  STOP 15 

III.  A  BREAKDOWN 18 

IV.  PENNSYLVANIA,  OHIO  AND  INDIANA        .        .      23 
V.  LUGGAGE  AND  OTHER  LUXURIES        ...      37 

VI.  DID  ANYBODY  SAY  "CHICKEN"?      ...      41 

VII.     THE  CITY  OP  AMBITION 46 

VTII.    A  FEW  CHICAGOANS 52 

IX.     TINS 60 

X.     MUD!! 67 

XL     IN  ROCHELLE 72 

XII.  THE  WEIGHT  OP  PUBLIC  OPINION    ...      75 

XIII.    MUDDIER! 79 

XIV.  ONE  OP  THE  FOGGED  IMPRESSIONS    ...      86 

XV.  A  FEW  WAYS  OP  THE  WEST    ....      90 

XVI.    HALFWAY  HOUSE 99 

XVII.  NEXT  STOP,  NORTH  PLATTE!    .        .        .        .107 

XVIII.  -THE  CITY  OP  RECKLESSNESS    .        .        .        .119 

XIX.  A  GLIMPSE  OP  THE  WEST  THAT  WAS      .        .    135 

XX.  OUR  LITTLE  SISTER  OP  YESTERDAY    .        .        .150 

XXI.  IGNORANCE  WITH  A  CAPITAL    I        ...    155 

XXII.  SOME  INDIANS  AND  MR.  X        ....    159 

XXIII.  WITH  NOWHERE  TO  Go  Bur  Our    .        .        .172 

XXIV.  INTO  THE  DESERT 175 

ix 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXV.    THROUGH  THE  CITY  UNPRONOUNCEABLE  TO  AN 

EXPOSITION  BEAUTIFUL      ....    187 

XXVI.    THE  LAND  OP  GLADNESS 198 

XXVII.    THE  METTLE  OF  A  HERO 205 

XXVIII.    SAN  FRANCISCO 211 

XXIX.    THE  FAIR 229 

XXX.    "UNENDING    SAMENESS"    WAS    WHAT    THEY 

SAID 237 

XXXI.    To  THOSE  WHO  THINK  OF  FOLLOWING  IN  OUR 

TIRE  TRACKS— To  THE  MAN  WHO  DRIVES    241 
XXXII.    ON  THE  SUBJECT  OF  CLOTHES— FOOD  EQUIP- 
MENT— EXPENSES — DAILY    EXPENSE    AC- 
COUNT       .        .  ....    251 

XXXIII.    How  FAR  CAN  You  Go  IN  COMFORT?— SOME 

DAY    .  .    278 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Pacific  at  last! Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

What  we  finally  carried 8 

Stowing  the  luggage 12 

Leaving  Gramercy  Park,  New  York  ....  16 

Still  in  New  York  State 20 

The  crowd  in  less  than  a  minute.  "Out  of  the  window" 

in  Cleveland 34 

One  of  the  exciting  things  in  motoring  is  wondering  what 

sort  of  a  hotel  you  will  arrive  at  for  the  night  .  44 
Hours  and  hours,  across  land  as  flat  and  endless  as  the 

ocean  .........84 

A  bedroom  in  the  Union  Pacific  Hotel,  North  Platte— not 

much  of  a  hardship,  is  it? 108 

A  straight,  wide  road;  not  even  a  shack  in  sight — and  a 

speed  limit  of  twenty  miles  an  hour  .  .  .  112 

Wyoming  in  the  ranch  country 116 

Cripple  Creek   .        .   "   .        ....        .        .120 

In  the  Garden  of  the  Gods        .  .        .        .124 

Colorado.  Pike's  Peak  in  the  distance  .  .  .128 

First  cowboys  and  cattle 132 

Halfway  across  a  thrilling  ford,  wide  and  deep,  on  the 

Huerfano  River 136 

A  glimpse  of  the  West  of  yesterday  ....  140 
Your  route  leads  through  many  Mexican  and  Indian  vil- 
lages   148 

The  Indian  pueblo  of  Taos 160 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING   PAGI 

To  see  the  sleeping  beauty  of  the  Southwest,  the  path  is 

by  no  means  a  smooth  one  to  the  motorist  .  .  170 

Across  the  real  desert 180 

Our  chauffeur  takes  a  day  off  at  the  Grand  Canyon  of  the 

Colorado 184 

This  is  not  a  gallery  in  a  Spanish  palace,  but  a  gallery  in 

the  Mission  Inn  at  Riverside,  California  .  .  .  188 

In  a  California  garden 192 

Under  Santa  Barbara  skies 196 

Ostrich  Eock,  Monterey,  California  .  .  .  .200 

On  the  seventeen-mile  drive  at  Monterey  .  .  .  208 

On  a  beautiful  ocean  road  of  California  ....  216 

The  portico  of  a  California  house 226 

Sometimes  we  struck  a  bad  road 244 

In  order  to  cross  here,  E.  M.  built  a  bridge  with  the  logs 

at  the  right 248 

On  the  famous  "staked  plains"  of  the  Southwest  .  .  254 


BY  MOTOR  TO 
THE  GOLDEN  GATE 


CHAPTER  I 

IT  CAN'T  BE  DONE— BUT  THEN,  IT  IS 
PERFECTLY  SIMPLE 

OF  course  you  are  sending  your  servants 
ahead  by  train  with  your  luggage  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,"  said  an  Englishman. 

A  New  York  banker  answered  for  me :  * '  Not  at 
all!  The  best  thing  is  to  put  them  in  another 
machine  directly  behind,  with  a  good  mechanic. 
Then  if  you  break  down  the  man  in  the  rear  and 
your  own  chauffeur  can  get  you  to  rights  in  no 
time.  How  about  your  chauffeur?  You  are  sure 
he  is  a  good  one  ? ' ' 

"We  are  not  taking  one,  nor  servants,  nor  me- 
chanic, either." 

"Surely  you  and  your  son  are  not  thinking  of 
going  alone!  Probably  he  could  drive,  but  who 
is  going  to  take  care  of  the  car?" 

"Why,  he  is!" 

At  that  everyone  interrupted  at  once.  One 
thought  we  were  insane  to  attempt  such  a  trip; 
another  that  it  was  a  "corking"  thing  to  do.  The 
majority  looked  upon  our  undertaking  with  typ- 
ical New  York  apathy.  "Why  do  anything  so 
dreary?"  If  we  wanted  to  see  the  expositions, 
then  let  us  take  the  fastest  train,  with  plenty  of 
1 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

books  so  as  to  read  through  as  much  of  the  way 
as  possible.  Only  one,  Mr.  B.,  was  enthusiastic 
enough  to  wish  he  was  going  with  us.  Evidently, 
though,  he  thought  it  a  daring  adventure,  for  he 
suggested  an  equipment  for  us  that  sounded  like 
a  relief  expedition :  a  block  and  tackle,  a  revolver, 
a  pickaxe  and  shovel,  tinned  food — he  forgot 
nothing  but  the  pemmican!  However,  someone 
else  thought  of  hardtack,  after  which  a  chorus 
of  voices  proposed  that  we  stay  quietly  at 
home! 

"They'll  never  get  there!"  said  the  banker, 
with  a  successful  man's  finality  of  tone.  "Unless 
I  am  mistaken,  they'll  be  on  a  Pullman  inside  of 
ten  days ! ' ' 

"Oh,  you  wouldn't  do  that,  would  you?"  ex- 
claimed our  one  enthusiastic  friend,  B. 

I  hoped  not,  but  I  was  not  sure ;  for,  although  I 
had  promised  an  editor  to  write  the  story  of  our 
experience,  if  we  had  any,  we  were  going  solely 
for  pleasure,  which  to  us  meant  a  certain  degree 
of  comfort,  and  not  to  advertise  the  endurance  of 
a  special  make  of  car  or  tires.  Nor  had  we  any 
intention  of  trying  to  prove  that  motoring  in 
America  was  delightful  if  we  should  find  it  was 
not.  As  for  breaking  speed  records — that  was  the 
last  thing  we  wanted  to  attempt ! 

"Whatever  put  it  into  your  head  to  under- 
take such  a  trip?"  someone  asked  in  the  first 
pause. 

"The  advertisements!"  I  answered  promptly. 
2 


IT  CAN'T  BE  DONE 

They  were  all  so  optimistic,  that  they  went  to  my 
head.  "New  York  to  San  Francisco  in  an  X — 
car  for  thirty-eight  dollars ! ' '  We  were  not  going 
in  an  X —  car,  but  the  thought  of  any  machine's 
running  such  a  distance  at  such  a  price  immedi- 
ately lowered  the  expenditure  allowance  for  our 
own.  " Cheapest  way  to  go  to  the  coast!"  agreed 
another  folder.  ' '  Travel  luxuriously  in  your  own 
car  from  your  own  front  door  over  the  world's 
greatest  highway  to  the  Pacific  Shore."  Could 
any  motor  enthusiasts  resist  such  suggestions? 
We  couldn't. 

We  had  driven  across  Europe  again  and  again. 
In  fact  I  had  in  1898  gone  from  the  Baltic  to 
the  Adriatic  in  one  of  the  few  first  motor-cars 
ever  sold  to  a  private  individual.  We  knew  Euro- 
pean scenery,  roads,  stopping-places,  by  heart. 
We  had  been  to  all  the  resorts  that  were  famous, 
and  a  few  that  were  infamous,  but  our  own  land, 
except  for  the  few  chapter  headings  that  might 
be  read  from  the  windows  of  a  Pullman  train, 
was  an  unopened  book — one  that  we  also  found 
difficulty  in  opening.  The  idea  of  going  occurred 
to  us  on  Tuesday  and  on  Saturday  we  were  to 
start,  yet  we  had  no  information  on  the  most 
important  question  of  all — which  route  was  the 
best  to  take.  And  we  had  no  idea  how  to  find 
out! 

The  1914  Blue  Book  was  out  of  print,  and  the 
new  one  for  this  year  not  issued.  I  went  to  vari- 
ous information  bureaus — some  of  those  whose 
3 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

advertisements  had  sounded  so  encouraging — but 
their  personal  answers  were  more  optimistic  than 
definite.  Then  a  friend  telegraphed  for  me  to 
the  Lincoln  Highway  Commission  asking  if  road 
conditions  and  hotel  accommodations  were  such 
that  a  lady  who  did  not  want  in  any  sense  to 
"rough  it"  could  motor  from  New  York  to  Cali- 
fornia comfortably. 

We  wasted  a  whole  precious  thirty-six  hours 
waiting  for  this  answer.  When  it  came,  a  slim 
typewritten  enclosure  helpfully  informed  us  that 
a  Mrs.  Somebody  of  Brooklyn  had  gone  over  the 
route  fourteen  months  previously  and  had  written 
them  many  glowing  letters  about  it.  As  even  the 
most  optimistic  prospectus  admitted  that  in  1914 
the  road  was  as  yet  not  a  road,  and  hotels  along 
the  sparsely  settled  districts  had  not  been  built, 
it  was  evident  that  Mrs.  Somebody's  idea  of  a 
perfect  motor  trip  was  independent  of  roads  or 
stopping-places. 

Meanwhile  I  had  been  told  that  the  best  informa- 
tion was  to  be  had  at  the  touring  department  of 
the  Automobile  Club.  So  I  went  there. 

A  very  polite  young  man  was  answering  ques- 
tions with  a  facility  altogether  fascinating.  He 
told  one  man  about  shipping  his  car — even  the 
hours  at  which  the  freight  trains  departed.  To  a 
second  he  gave  advice  about  a  suit  for  damages; 
for  a  third  he  reduced  New  York's  traffic  compli- 
cations to  simplicities  in  less  than  a  minute ;  then 
it  was  my  turn : 

4 


IT  CAN'T  BE  DONE 

"I  would  like  to  know  the  best  route  to  San 
Francisco. '  ' 

" Certainly, "  he  said.  "Will  you  take  a  seat 
over  here  for  a  moment!" 

"This  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  I 
thought,  and  opened  my  notebook  to  write  down 
a  list  of  towns  and  hotels  and  road  directions. 
He  returned  with  a  stack  of  folders.  But  as  I 
eagerly  scanned  them,  I  found  they  were  all  fa- 
miliarly Eastern. 

" Unfortunately, "  he  said  suavely,  "we  have  not 
all  our  information  yet,  and  we  seem  to  be  out  of 
our  Western  maps!  But  I  can  recommend  some 
very  delightful  tours  through  New  England  and 
the  Berkshires." 

"That  is  very  interesting,  but  I  am  going  to 
San  Francisco." 

His  attention  was  fixed  upon  a  map  of  the 
"Ideal  Tour."  "The  New  England  roads  are 
very  much  better,"  he  said. 

"But,  you  see,  San  Francisco  is  where  I  am 
going.  Do  you  know  which  route  is,  if  you  prefer 
it,  the  least  bad?" 

"Oh,  I  see."  He  looked  sorry.  "Of  course  if 
you  must  cross  the  continent,  there  is  the  Lincoln 
Highway ! ' ' 

1  *  Can  you  tell  me  how  much  work  has  been  done 
on  it — how  much  of  it  is  finished?  Might  it  not 
be  better  on  account  of  the  early  season  to  take  a 
Southern  route?  Isn't  there  a  road  called  the 
Santa  Fe  trail?" 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

"Why,  yes,  certainly,"  said  the  nice  young 
man.  "The  road  goes  through  Kansas,  New 
Mexico  and  Arizona.  It  would  be  warmer  assur- 
edly." 

"How  about  the  Arizona  desert?  Can  we  get 
across  that?" 

"That  is  the  question!" 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  just  start  out  and  ask 
the  people  living  along  the  road  which  is  the  best 
way  farther  on?" 

The  young  man  brightened  at  once.  "That 
would  have  been  my  suggestion  from  the  be- 
ginning." 

Once  outside,  however,  the  feasibility  of  asking 
our  road  as  we  came  to  it  did  not  seem  very  prac- 
tical, so  I  went  to  Brentano's  to  buy  some  maps. 
They  showed  me  a  large  one  of  the  United  States 
with  four  routes  crossing  it,  equally  black  and 
straight  and  inviting.  I  promptly  decided  upon 
the  one  through  the  Allegheny  Mountains  to 
Pittsburgh  and  St.  Louis  when  two  women  I 
knew  came  in,  one  of  them  Mrs.  0.,  a  conspicu- 
ous hostess  in  the  New  York  social  world,  and  a 
Calif ornian  by  birth.  "The  very  person  I  need," 
I  thought.  "She  knows  the  country  thoroughly 
and  her  idea  of  comfort  and  mine  would  be  the 
same." 

"Can  you  tell  me,"  I  asked  her,  "which  is  the 
best  road  to  California?" 

"Without  hesitating  she  answered:  "The  Union 
Pacific." 

6 


IT  CAN'T  BE  DONE 

"No,  I  mean  motor  road." 

Compared  with  her  expression  the  worst  skep- 
tics I  had  encountered  were  enthusiasts.'  "Motor 
road  to  California ! ' '  She  looked  at  me  pityingly. 
"There  isn't  any." 

"Nonsense !  There  are  four  beautiful  ones  and 
if  you  read  the  accounts  of  those  who  have  crossed 
them  you  will  find  it  impossible  to  make  a  choice 
of  the  beauties  and  comforts  of  each. ' ' 

She  looked  steadily  into  my  face  as  though  to 
force  calmness  to  my  poor  deluded  mind.  * '  You ! ' ' 
she  said.  "A  woman  like  you  to  undertake  such 
a  trip !  Why,  you  couldn  't  live  through  it !  I  have 
crossed  the  continent  one  hundred  and  sixty  odd 
times.  I  know  every  stick  and  stone  of  the  way. 
You  don't  know  what  you  are  undertaking." 

"It  can't  be  difficult;  the  Lincoln  Highway 
goes  straight  across." 

"In  an  imaginary  line  like  the  equator!"  She 
pointed  at  the  map  that  was  opened  on  the  coun- 
ter. "Once  you  get  beyond  the  Mississippi  the 
roads  are  trails  of  mud  and  sand.  This  district 
along  here  by  the  Platte  River  is  wild  and  dan- 
gerous; full  of  the  most  terrible  people,  outlaws 
and  'bad  men'  who  would  think  nothing  of  killing 
you  if  they  were  drunk  and  felt  like  it.  There 
isn't  any  hotel.  Tell  me,  where  do  you  think  you 
are  going  to  stop  ?  These  are  not  towns ;  they  are 
only  names  on  a  map,  or  at  best  two  shacks  and  a 
saloon!  This  place  North  Platte  why,  you 
couldn't  stay  in  a  place  like  that!" 
7 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

I  began  to  feel  uncertain  and  let  down,  but  I 
said,  "Hundreds  of  people  have  motored  across." 

"Hundreds  and  thousands  of  people  have  done 
things  that  it  would  kill  you  to  do.  I  have  seen 
immigrants  eating  hunks  of  fat  pork  and  raw 
onions.  Could  you?  Of  course  people  have  gone 
across,  men  with  all  sorts  of  tackle  to  push  their 
machines  over  the  high  places  and  pull  them  out 
of  the  deep  places ;  men  who  themselves  can  sleep 
on  the  roadside  or  on  a  barroom  floor.  You  may 
think  'roughing  it'  has  an  attractive  sound,  be- 
cause you  have  never  in  your  life  had  the  slightest 
experience  of  what  it  can  be.  I  was  born  and 
brought  up  out  there  and  I  know."  She  quietly 
but  firmly  folded  the  map  and  handed  it  to  the 
clerk.  "I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "if  you  really 
wanted  to  go!  By  and  by  maybe  if  they  ever 
build  macadam  roads  and  put  up  good  hotels — 
but  even  then  it  would  be  deadly  dull." 

For  about  five  minutes  I  thought  I  had  better 
give  it  up,  and  I  called  up  my  editor.  "It  looks 
as  though  we  could  not  get  much  farther  than  the 
Mississippi." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "go  as  far  as 
the  Mississippi.  After  all,  your  object  is  merely 
to  find  out  how  far  you  can  go  pleasurably !  When 
you  find  it  too  uncomfortable,  come  home ! ' ' 

No  sooner  had  he  said  that  than  my  path  seemed 
to  stretch  straight  and  unencumbered  to  the  Pa- 
cific Coast.  If  we  could  get  no  further  informa- 
tion, we  would  start  for  Philadelphia,  Pittsburgh 
8 


IT  CAN'T  BE  DONE 

and  St.  Louis,  as  we  had  many  friends  in  these 
cities,  and  get  new  directions  from  there,  but  as 
a  last  resort  I  went  to  the  office  of  a  celebrated 
touring  authority  and  found  him  at  his  desk. 

"I  would  like  to  know  whether  it  will  be  possible 
for  me  to  go  from  here  to  San  Francisco  by 
motor?" 

' '  Sure,  it 's  possible !    "Why  isn  't  it  1' ' 
' 1 1  have  been  told  the  roads  are  dreadful  and  the 
accommodations  worse." 

He  surveyed  me  from  head  to  foot  with  about 
the  same  expression  that  he  might  have  been  ex- 
pected to  use  if  I  had  asked  whether  one  could 
safely  travel  to  Brooklyn. 

"You  won't  find  Eitz  hotels  every  few  miles, 
and  you  won't  find  Central  Park  roads  all  of  the 
way.  If  you  can  put  up  with  less  than  that,  you 
can  go — easy!"  Whereupon  he  reached  up  over 
his  head  without  even  looking,  took  down  a  map, 
spread  it  on  the  table  before  him,  and  unhesi- 
tatingly raced  his  blue  pencil  up  the  edge  of  the 
Hudson  Eiver,  exactly  as  the  pencil  of  Tad  draws 
cartoons  at  the  movies. 
"You  go  here — Albany,  Utica,  Syracuse." 
"No,  please!"  I  said.  "I  want  to  go  by  way 
of  Pittsburgh  and  St.  Louis." 

"You  asked  for  the  best  route  to  San  Fran- 
cisco ! ' '    He  looked  rather  annoyed. 
"Yes,  but  I  want  to  go  by  way  of  St.  Louis." 
"Why  do  you  want  to  go  to  St.  Louis?" 
"Because  we  have  friends  there." 
9 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

''Well,  then,  you  had  better  take  the  train  and 
go  and  see  them!"  Indifferently  he  took  down 
another  map  and  made  a  few  casual  blue  marks 
on  the  mountains  of  Pennsylvania.  "  They  're  re- 
building roads  that  will  be  fine  later  in  the  season, 
but  at  the  moment  [April,  1915]  all  of  these  places 
are  detours.  You'll  get  bad  grades  and  mud  over 
your  hubs !  Of  course,  if  you're  set  on  going  that 
way,  if  you  want  to  burn  any  amount  of  gasoline, 
cut  your  tires  to  pieces,  and  strain  your  engine — 
go  along  to  St.  Louis.  It's  all  the  same  to  me;  I 
don't  own  the  roads!  But  you  said  you  wanted 
to  take  a  motor  trip." 

"Then  Chicago  is  much  the  best  way?" 

"It  is  the  only  way!" 

He  did  not  wait  for  my  agreement,  but  throwing 
aside  the  second  map  and  turning  again  to  the 
first,  his  pencil  swooped  down  upon  Buffalo  and 
raced  to  Cleveland  as  though  it  fitted  in  a  groove. 
He  seemed  to  be  in  a  mental  aeroplane  looking 
actually  down  upon  the  roads  below. 

"There  is  a  detour  you  will  have  to  take  here. 
You  turn  left  at  a  white  church.  This  stretch 
is  dusty  in  dry  weather,  but  along  here,"  his  pen- 
cil had  now  reached  Iowa  and  Nebraska,  "you  will 
have  no  trouble  at  all — if  it  doesn't  rain." 

"And  if  it  rains?" 

"Well,  you  can  get  out  your  solitaire  pack!" 

"For  how  long?"  The  vision  of  the  sort  of 
road  it  must  be  if  that  man  thought  it  impassable 
was  hard  to  imagine. 

10 


IT  CAN'T  BE  DONE 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  a  week  or  two,  even  three 
maybe.  But  when  they  are  dry  there  are  no  faster 
roads  in  the  country.  What  kind  of  a  car  are 
you  going  in?" 

I  told  him  proudly.  Instead  of  being  impressed 
by  its  make  and  power  he  remarked:  "Humph! 
You'd  better  go  in  a  Ford!  But  suit  yourself! 
At  any  rate,  you  can  open  her  wide  along  here,  as 
wide  as  you  like  if  the  weather  is  right."  At  the 
foot  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  his  pencil  swerved 
far  south. 

' '  Way  down  there  ? "  I  asked.  ' '  That  is  all  des- 
ert. Can  we  cross  the  desert  ? ' ' 

"Why  can't  you?"  He  looked  me  over  from 
head  to  foot.  I  had  felt  he  held. small  opinion  of 
me  from  the  start.  "I  only  wondered  if  the  roads 
were  passable, ' '  I  answered  meekly. 

"The  roads  are  all  right."  He  accented  the 
word  "roads." 

"I  was  wondering  if  there  were  hotels." 

"And  what  if  there  aren't?  Splendid  open  dry 
country;  won't  hurt  anyone  to  sleep  out  a  night  or 
two.  It'd  do  you  good!  A  doctor 'd  charge  you 
money  for  that  advice.  I  'm  giving  it  to  you  free ! ' ' 

On  the  doorstep  at  home  I  met  my  amateur 
chauffeur. 

"Have  you  found  out  about  routes?"  he  asked. 

"We  go  by  way  of  Cleveland  and  Chicago." 

He  looked  far  from  pleased.  "Is  that  so  much 
the  best  way?" 

"It  is  the  only  way,"  and  I  imitated  uncon- 
11 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

sciously  the  voice  of  the  oracle  of  the  touring 
bureau. 

One  would  have  thought  that  we  were  starting 
for  the  Congo  or  the  North  Pole!  Friends  and 
farewell  gifts  poured  in.  It  was  quite  thrilling, 
although  myself  in  the  role  of  a  venturesome  ex- 
plorer was  a  miscast  somewhere.  Every  little 
while  Edwards,  our  butler,  brought  in  a  new  pack- 
age. 

One  present  was  a  dark  blue  silk  bag  about 
twenty  inches  square  like  a  pillow-case.  At  first 
sight  we  wondered  what  to  do  with  it.  It  turned 
out  afterward  to  be  the  most  useful  thing  we  had 
except  a  tin  box,  the  story  of  which  comes  later. 
The  silk  bag  held  two  hats  without  mussing,  no 
matter  how  they  were  thrown  in,  clean  gloves, 
veils,  and  any  odd  necessities,  even  a  pair  of  slip- 
pers. The  next  friend  of  mine  going  on  a  motor 
trip  is  going  to  be  sent  one  exactly  like  it! 

By  far  the  most  resplendent  of  our  presents  was 
a  marvel  of  a  luncheon  basket.  Edwards  stag- 
gered under  its  massiveness,  and  we  all  gathered 
around  its  silver-laden  contents ;  bottles  and  jars, 
boxes  and  dishes,  flat  silver  and  cutlery,  enamel- 
ware  and  glass,  food  paraphernalia  enough  to  set 
before  all  the  kings  of  Europe. 

"I  could  not  bear,"  wrote  the  giver,  "to  think 
of  your  starving  in  the  desert." 

Mr.  B.  brought  us  a  block  and  tackle  and  two 
queer-looking  canvas  squares  that  he  explained 
12 


STOWING  THE  LUGGAGE 


IT  CAN'T  BE  DONE 

were  African  water  buckets.  All  we  needed  fur- 
ther, lie  told  us,  were  fur  sleeping-bags  and  we 
would  be  quite  fixed! 

Another  thing  sent  us  was  an  air  cushion.  Air 
cushions  make  me  feel  seasick,  but  the  lady  who 
traveled  with  us  loved  them.  By  the  way,  we 
added  a  passenger  at  the  last  moment.  On  Fri- 
day afternoon,  a  member  of  our  family  announced 
she  was  going  with  us  to  protect  us. 

"The  only  thing  is,"  we  said,  "there  is  no 
place  for  you  to  sit  except  in  the  back  underneath 
the  luggage." 

"I  adore  sitting  under  luggage;  it  is  my  favo- 
rite way  of  traveling,"  she  replied.  And  as  we 
adore  her,  our  party  became  three. 

We  had  expected  to  leave  New  York  about  nine 
o  'clock  in  the  morning,  but  at  eleven  we  were  still 
making  selections  of  what  we  most  needed  to  take 
with  us,  and  finally  choosing  the  wrong  things 
with  an  accuracy  that  amounted  to  a  talent.  Be- 
sides our  regular  luggage,  the  sidewalk  was  lit- 
tered with  all  the  entrancing-looking  traveling 
equipment  that  had  been  sent  us,  and  nowhere  to 
stow  it.  By  giving  it  all  the  floor  space  of  the  ton- 
neau,  we  managed  to  get  the  big  lunch  basket  in. 
Then  we  helped  in  the  lady  who  traveled  with  us 
and  added  a  collection  of  six  wraps,  two  steamer 
rugs,  and  three  dressing-cases,  a  typewriter,  a 
best  big  camera  and  a  little  better  one — with  both 
of  which  we  managed  to  take  the  highest  possible 
percentage  of  worst  pictures  that  anyone  ever 
13 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

brought  home — a  medicine  chest,  and  various  other 
paraphernalia  neatly  packed  over  and  around  her. 
Of  this  collection  our  passenger  was  allowed  one 
of  the  dressing-cases,  two  wraps  and  a  big  bag. 
As  there  was  not  room  for  three  bags  on  the  back, 
my  son  and  I  divided  a  small  motor  trunk  between 
us ;  I  took  the  trays  and  he  the  bottom.  It  seemed 
at  the  time  a  simple  enough  arrangement. 

On  our  way  up  Fifth  Avenue,  two  or  three  times 
in  the  traffic  stops,  we  found  the  motors  of  friends 
next  to  us.  Seeing  our  quantity  of  luggage,  each 
asked:  "Where  are  you  going?" 

Very  importantly  we  answered:  "To  San 
Francisco!" 

"No,  really,  where  are  you  going?" 

' '  S  AN-FK  AN-CIS-CO ! ! ! "  we  called  back.  But 
not  one  of  them  believed  us. 


CHAPTER  H 
ALBANY,  FIRST  STOP1 

WE  had  intended  making  Syracuse  our 
first  night's  stopping-place.  It  can  easily 
be  done,  but  as  we  were  so  late  starting — 
it  was  nearly  half-past  one — we  decided  upon 
Albany  instead.  We  felt  very  self-important;  it 
even  seemed  that  people  ought  to  cheer  us  a  little 
as  we  passed.  A  number  of  persons,  especially 
boys,  did  look  with  curiosity  at  our  unusually  for- 
eign type  of  car — solid  wheels  and  exhaust  tubes 
through  the  side  of  the  hood  always  attract  atten- 
tion in  America — but  no  one  seemed  to  divine  or 
care  about  the  thrilling  adventure  we  were  setting 
out  upon! 

For  about  thirty  miles  outside  of  New  York  the 
road  grew  worse  and  worse.  Through  Dobbs 
Ferry  and  Ardsley  the  surface  looked  fairly  good, 
but  was  full  of  brittle  places.  Our  chauffeur  says 
that  the  word  brittle  has  no  sense,  but  it  is  the 
only  one  I  can  think  of  to  convey  the  sudden  sharp 
flaked-off  places  that  would  snap  the  springs  of 
a  car  going  at  fair  speed. 

I  was  rather  perturbed;  because  if  the  road 
was  as  bad  as  this  near  home,  what  would  it  be 

*  See  Map  No.  1,  page  285. 

15 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

further  along  T  But  the  further  we  went  the  better 
it  became,  and  for  the  latter  seventy  or  eighty 
miles  it  was  perfect. 

The  Hudson  River  scenery,  the  lower  end  of  it, 
always  oppressed  me;  I  can  never  think  of  any- 
thing but  the  favorite  fiction  descriptions  of  the 
"mansions  where  the  wealthy  reside."  Such 
overwhelmingly  serious  piles  of  solid  masonry, 
each  set  squarely  in  the  middle  of  a  seed  catalog 
painter's  dream  of  pictorial  lawn!  Steep  hills, 
steep  houses,  steep  expenditure,  typify  the  lower 
Hudson,  but  the  scenery  a  hundred  miles  above 
the  river's  mouth  is  enchanting!  "Wide,  beautiful 
views  of  rolling  country;  great  comfortable-look- 
ing houses  with  hundreds  of  acres  about  them; 
here,  though  many  are  worth  fortunes,  one  feels 
that  they  were  built  solely  to  answer  the  individual 
need  of  their  owners,  and  as  homes. 

Out  on  a  knoll,  with  the  river  spread  like  a  great 
silver  mirror  in  the  distance,  we  christened  our 
tea-basket.  It  took  us  five  minutes  to  burrow 
down  and  unpile  all  the  things  we  had  on  top  of 
it,  and  five  more  to  find  in  which  compartment 
were  huddled  a  few  sandwiches  and  in  which  other 
box  was  the  cake.  For  twenty  minutes  we  boiled 
water  in  our  beautiful  little  silver  kettle,  but  as 
at  the  end  of  that  time  the  boiling  water  was  tepid, 
we  gave  it  up  and  ate  our  sandwiches  as  recom- 
mended by  the  Red  Queen  in  "Alice"  who  offered 
her  dry  biscuits  for  thirst.  Then  we  spent  fifteen 
minutes  in  putting  everything  away  again. 
16 


ALBANY,  FIRST  STOP 

"When  we  get  out  on  the  prairies,  where  can 
we  get  supplies  enough  to  fill  it?"  I  wondered. 
Our  "chauffeur"  mumbled  something  about 
"strain  on  tires"  and  "not  driving  a  motor 
truck." 

"It  is  a  most  wonderfully  magnificent  basket," 
said  the  lady  who  was  traveling  with  us,  rather 
wistfully,  as  she  braced  all  the  heaviest  pieces  of 
luggage  between  her  and  it. 

Not  counting  the  time  out  for  tea,  which  we 
didn't  have,  it  took  us  five  hours  and  a  half  from 
Fifty-ninth  Street,  New  York,  to  the  Ten  Eyck 
at  Albany. 

The  run  should  have  been  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles,  but  we  made  it  one  hundred  and  sixty  be- 
cause we  lost  our  way  at  Fishkill.  We  had  no 
Blue  Book,  but  had  been  told  we  need  only  follow 
the  river  all  the  way.  At  Fishkill  the  road  runs 
into  the  woods  and  the  river  disappears  until  it 
seems  permanently  lost!  We  wandered  around 
and  around  a  mountain  in  a  wood  for  about  ten 
miles  before  we  discovered  a  signpost  pointing 
the  way  to  Albany! 

Fortunately  we  had  telegraphed  ahead  for 
rooms  at  the  Ten  Eyck,  or  they  would  not  have 
been  able  to  take  us  in.  The  hotel  was  filled  to 
overflowing  with  senators  and  assemblymen,  but 
we  had  very  comfortable  rooms  and  delicious 
coffee  in  the  morning  before  we  left  for  Syracuse. 


CHAPTER  in 
A  BREAKDOWN 

ONLY  two  hundred  miles  from  home  and  a 
breakdown !  We  had  left  Albany  early  in 
the  morning  and  were  running  happily 
along  over  a  road  as  smooth  as  a  billiard  table. 
Everything  went  beautifully  until  we  were  about 
twenty  miles  from  Utica  when  our  "chauffeur" 
said  he  heard  a  squeak.  Gloom  began  to  shadow 
his  features.  Half  a  mile  further,  the  squeak  be- 
came a  knock  and  gloom  deepened.  He  stopped 
the  engine,  got  out  and  looked  under  the  hood, 
lifted  the  cranking  handle  once  or  twice  and  threw 
his  hands  up  in  a  gesture  of  abject  despair.  His 
lips  framed  all  sorts  of  words  but  all  he  said  aloud 
was:  "It's  a  bearing!"  He  looked  so  utterly 
dejected  that  in  my  sympathy  for  him  (starting 
out  on  such  a  trip  with  a  mother  and  a  cousin  and 
neither  of  us  of  the  slightest  use  to  him)  I  forgot 
that  we  were  all  equally  concerned  in  whatever 
this  misfortune  about  a  "bearing"  might  be. 

"Couldn't  we  try  to  get  to  a  garage?"  timor- 
ously asked  the  one  in  the  back. 

Our ' '  chauffeur"  shook  his  head.    '  *  Not  without 
wrecking  the  engine.    There  is  nothing  for  it  but 
to  be  towed  to  a  machine  shop." 
18 


A  BREAKDOWN 

"And  then? "I  asked. 

"That  depends "  was  his  ambiguous  an- 
swer, and  we  said  nothing  more. 

Is  there  anything  more  exhilarating  than  an 
automobile  running  smoothly  along?  Is  there 
anything  more  dispiriting  than  the  same  auto- 
mobile unable  to  go  ?  The  bigger  and  heavier  it  is, 
the  worse  the  situation  seems  to  be.  You  might 
get  out  and  push  a  little  one,  but  a  big  car  standing 
stonily  silent  portends  something  of  the  inexor- 
ability of  Fate. 

And  there  we  sat.  Presently  an  old  man  came 
jogging  along  in  a  buggy.  "Any  trouble?"  He 
grinned  as  the  owner  of  a  horse  always  does  grin 
under  such  circumstances.  But  after  a  few  further 
exasperating  remarks,  he  offered  kindly,  "Say, 
son,  I'll  drive  you  to  a  good  garage  down  the  road ; 
there  are  others  a  mile  nearer,  but  Hoffman  and 
Adams'  place  at  Fort  Plain  is  first  class." 

There  had  been  nothing  in  our  informer's  con- 
versation to  give  us  great  confidence  in  his  recom- 
mendation but  the  garage  turned  out  even  better 
than  he  said.  There  was  a  first-rate  machine  shop 
with  an  expert  mechanic  in  charge  of  it,  who 
peered  into  our  engine  dubiously : 

"If  it  was  only  a  Ford  or  a  Cadillac,"  said  he, 
1 1 1  could  fix  you  up  right  away !  But  a  bearing  for 
that  car  of  yours '11  like  as  not  have  to  be  made. 
Can  you  get  one  in  New  York,  do  you  think?" 

An  unusual  and  "special"  car  may  be  very 
smart-looking  and  be  particularly  easy  to  trace 
19 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

if  stolen,  but  in  a  breakdown  a  make  of  popular 
type  would  be  best — a  Ford  ideal.  You  could  buy 
a  whole  new  one  at  the  first  garage  you  came  to, 
or  maybe  get  a  missing  part  at  the  first  ten-cent 
store.  We  discovered  the  difficulty,  or  inconven- 
ience rather,  of  repairing  ours,  within  twenty- 
four  hours  of  leaving  home. 

The  telephone  service  at  Fort  Plain  was  hope- 
less. For  over  four  hours  we  tried  to  get  the 
agency  in  New  York;  even  then  it  was  doubtful 
whether  they  would  have  the  part.  Meantime  the 
engine  had  been  taken  down  and  the  cause  of  the 
burnt-out  bearing  discovered  to  be  a  broken  oil 
pipe.  They  mended  that  and  our  "chauffeur" 
was  a  little  more  cheerful  when  he  discovered  that 
they  had  all  necessary  tools  and  things  to  make  a 
new  bearing  by  hand,  which  they  started  to  do. 
The  lady  who  was  traveling  with  us  and  I  walked 
round  and  round  the  town.  We  sent  picture  post- 
als by  the  dozen  quite  as  though  we  had  arrived 
where  we  had  intended  to  be.  We  discovered  a  res- 
taurant where  we  could,  if  it  should  be  necessary, 
return  for  lunch,  and  a  news  stand  where  we  forti- 
fied ourselves  with  chocolate  and  magazines.  Aft- 
er which  reconnoitering  we  returned  to  the  gar- 
age prepared  to  stay  where  we  were  indefinitely. 
Mr.  Hoffman  made  us  comfortable  in  the  office, 
where  I  found  excitement  in  the  workings  of  a 
very  gorgeous  and  complicated  cash  register.  It 
had  all  sorts  of  knobs  and  buttons  in  every  variety 
of  color,  and  was  altogether  fascinating !  I  won- 
20 


A  BREAKDOWN 

der  if  anyone  ever  has  opened  a  store  for  the  mere 
joy  of  playing  on  the  cash  register.  I  wanted  to 
set  up  a  shop  at  once ! 

Finally  New  York  telephoned  they  had  a  bear- 
ing, so  we  decided  to  go  on  to  Utica  by  train. 
Someone  told  us — I  can't  remember  who  it  was — 
that  beyond  Albany  the  nearest  good  hotel  was 
the  Onondaga  at  Syracuse ;  but  as  we  would  sure- 
ly have  to  stop  at  some  poor  hotels  we  thought  we 
might  as  well  get  used  to  a  lack  of  luxury  first  as 
last,  so  we  took  the  train  for  Utica,  to  wait  there 
until  our  car  should  be  repaired. 

Notwithstanding  our  altruistic  intention  to  ac- 
cept cheerfully  whatever  accommodations  offered, 
our  delighted  surprise  may  be  imagined  when  we 
entered  the  beautiful,  wide,  white  marble  lobby  of 
the  brand-new  Hotel  Utica !  Our  rooms  were  big 
and  charmingly  furnished.  One  had  light  blue 
damask  hangings,  and  cane  furniture ;  another  ma- 
hogany and  English  chintz;  each  of  them  had  its 
own  bathroom  with  best  sort  of  plumbing. 

The  food  is  very  good  and  reasonable  as  to 
price.  One  dinner  for  instance  was  a  dollar  and 
thirty  cents  for  each  of  us,  including  crepes  Su- 
zette,  which  were  delicious!  There  was  music 
during  dinner,  and  afterward  dancing.  As  in 
most  places  outside  of  Broadway,  they  still  call 
every  sort  of  dance  that  is  not  a  waltz  the  "tan- 
go." 

Sitting  in  the  lobby  for  a  little  while  in  the  eve- 
ning, we  noticed  that  the  clerk  at  the  desk,  instead 
21 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

of  showing  the  blank  indifference  typical  of  hotels 
on  Fifth  Avenue  and  Madison  Avenue,  greeted  all 
arriving  guests  with  a  hearty  *  *  How  do  you  do  ? " 
They  also  gave  us  souvenirs.  A  little  gilt  powder 
pencil,  a  leather  change  purse,  and  a  gilt  stamped 
leather  cardcase.  We  felt  as  though  we  had  been 
to  a  children's  party. 

Our  "chauffeur,"  who  went  back  to  Fort  Plain 
at  daybreak,  returned  with  the  car  in  the  late  after- 
noon, so  that  we  were  able  to  go  on  again  after  a 
delay  of  only  a  day  and  a  half. 


CHAPTER  IV 
PENNSYLVANIA,  OHIO  AND  INDIANA 

ERIE  is  a  nice,  homelike  little  city,  full  of 
business ;  and  our  hotel,  the  Lawrence,  very 
good.  There  was  an  irate  man  at  the  desk 
this  morning.  * '  Say,  what  kind  of  a  hotel  do  you 
run  I  That  dancing  went  on  until  three  o'clock 
this  morning!  It's  an  outrage!"  The  clerk  was 
sorry,  and  willingly  arranged  to  have  the  guest 
put  in  a  quiet  room,  but  he  bit  off  the  end  of  a 
cigar  viciously  and  went  out  still  storming  about 
the  disgrace  of  allowing  such  a  performance  in 
a  reputable  hotel. 

"He  ought  to  take  a  trip  to  little  old  New  York 
if  he  thinks  dancing  till  three  is  late,"  said  a  by- 
stander. 

"He'd  better  go  back  to  the  farm  and  go  to 
roost  with  the  chickens!"  answered  another. 

From  Albany  the  roads  have  been  wonderful, 
wide  and  smooth  as  a  billiard  table  all  the  way. 
There  were  stretches  of  long  straight  road  as  in 
France — much  better  than  any  in  France  since  the 
first  year  theirs  were  built.  One  thing  that  we 
have  already  found  out;  we  are  seeing  our  own 
country  for  the  first  time !  It  is  not  alone  that  a 
train  window  gives  one  only  a  piece  of  whirling 
23 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

view;  but  the  tracks  go  through  the  ragged  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  past  the  back  doors  and  through 
the  poorest  land  generally,  while  the  roads  become 
the  best  avenues  of  the  cities,  and  go  past  the 
front  entrances  of  farms.  And  such  farms !  We 
had  expected  the  scenery  to  be  uninteresting !  No 
one  with  a  spark  of  sentiment  for  his  own  country 
could  remain  long  indifferent.  Well-fenced  fields 
under  perfect  cultivation;  splendid-looking  graz- 
ing pastures,  splendid-looking  cows,  horses, 
houses,  barns.  And  in  every  barn,  a  Ford.  And 
fruits,  fruits,  fruits!  Miles  and  miles  and  miles 
of  grapevines  as  neatly  trimmed  and  evenly  set 
in  rows  as  soldiers  on  parade. 

"It  looks  like  Welch's  grape  juice!"  we  said 
and  laughed.  It  was ! 

So  much  for  the  country.  The  towns — only  the 
humanizing  genius  of  Julian  Street  could  ever  tell 
them  apart.  Small  Utica  dressed  herself  in  taupe 
color,  big  Syracuse  wore  red  with  brown  trim- 
mings. The  favorite  hues  were  brown  and  red, 
though  one  or  two  were  fond  of  gray,  but  all  looked 
almost  exactly  alike.  Each  had  a  bustling  and 
brown  business  center,  with  trolley  cars  swinging 
around  the  corners,  pedestrians  elbowing  their 
way  past  big  new  dry-goods  stores'  windows,  and 
automobiles  driving  up  to  the  curbs;  each  had  a 
wide  tree-bordered  residence  avenue,  with  block- 
shaped  detached  houses,  garnished  with  cupolas 
and  shelf -paper  trimmings.  The  houses  of  Utica 
had  deeper  gardens  than  most,  and  there  was  a 
24 


PENNSYLVANIA,  OHIO,  INDIANA 

stable  at  the  rear  of  nearly  every  one  on  the  pro- 
verbial Genesee  Street.  Syracuse,  like  the  cities 
in  Holland,  was  picturesquely  crossed  by  canals 
and,  like  the  thriving  commercial  center  it  is,  by 
— this  is  just  our  personal  opinion — all  the  freight 
trains  of  the  world !  It  took  us  almost  an  hour  to 
dodge  between  the  continuous  parade  of  box,  re- 
frigerator, and  flat  cars!  Of  the  salt,  for  which 
Syracuse  is  so  celebrated — the  marshes  were  to 
the  north  of  our  road — we  saw  not  an  ounce.  Per- 
haps those  millions  of  freight  cars  were  all  full 
of  it. 

For  a  surprise  we  came  upon  Geneva,  a  perfect 
little  Quaker,  sitting  on  her  own  garden  lawn  at 
the  edge  of  the  road  leading  west.  Facing  an  old 
Puritan  church  across  a  square  of  green,  stood  a 
row  of  little  houses  that  suggested  the  setting  of 
a  play  like  " Pomander  Walk."  To  the  moneyed 
magnates  of  the  mansions  of  the  lower  Hudson, 
to  the  retired  tradesmen  residing  in  some  of  the 
red  and  brown  residences  of  the  various  Genesee 
avenues,  the  demure  little  square  of  huddled 
houses  of  Geneva  might  seem  contemptibly  mean. 
Yet  the  mansions  left  us  cold,  while  the  little 
houses  indescribably  warmed  our  hearts.  It  was 
like  the  unexpected  finding  of  a  bit  of  fragile  and 
beautiful  old  porcelain  in  a  brickyard.  We  ex- 
.pected  to  see  the  counterpart  of  one  of  the  hero- 
ines of  Miss  Austen's  novels  come  out  of  one  of 
the  quaint  little  doorways. 

We  would  have  liked  to  find  a  tea  shop  on  the 
25 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

square,  for  it  was  lunch  time  and  we  hated  having 
to  turn  into  Main  Street  and  make  our  choice  be- 
tween several  unprepossessing  hotels.  Geneva 
was  certainly  a  town  of  unexpected  contrasts. 
Although  the  little  houses  around  the  corner  were 
so  adorable,  the  Hotel  Seneca  from  its  facade  of 
factory  brick,  sitting  flat  on  the  street,  never  for 
a  moment  warned  us  of  an  interior  looking  exactly 
like  the  illustrations  in  Vogue!  White  woodwork, 
French  blue  cut  velvet,  delicate  spindly  Adam 
furniture,  a  dining-room  all  white  with  little 
square-paned  mirror  doors,  too  attractive !  Lunch- 
eon was  delicious  and  well  served  by  waitresses  in 
white  dresses,  crisp  and  clean. 

Our  great  surprise  has  been  the  excellence  of 
the  roads  and  the  hotels,  and  our  really  beautiful 
and  prosperous  country.  Going  through  these 
miles  after  miles  of  perfect  vineyards  and  or- 
chards, these  wonderfully  kept  farms,  it  seems  im- 
possible to  believe  that  in  New  York  City  are  long 
bread  lines,  and  that  in  other  parts  of  our  great 
country  there  is  strife,  hunger,  poverty  and  waste. 

In  Buffalo  we  stopped  at  the  Statler,  a  com- 
mercial hotel  with  a  much  advertised  and  really 
quite  faultless  service  that  carries  the  idea  of  per- 
sonal attention  to  guests  to  its  highest  degree. 
"When  you  register,  the  clerk  reads  your  name  and 
invariably  thereafter  everyone  calls  you  by  it.  In 
fact  they  did  even  more  than  that.  I  had  wired 
ahead  for  rooms  and  as  soon  as  I  went  up  to 
26 


PENNSYLVANIA,  OHIO,  INDIANA 

register,  the  clerk,  whose  own  name  was  printed 
and  hung  over  the  desk,  said:  "Your  room  is 
No.  355,  Mrs.  Post !"  I  had  no  idea  where  Room 
355  was,  but  I  felt  as  though  I  must  have  occupied 
it  often  before — as  though  in  fact  it  in  some  per- 
sonal way  belonged  to  me.  A  decidedly  pleasant 
contrast  to  a  certain  New  York  hotel  where,  after 
stopping  four  months  under  its  roof,  the  clerks 
asked  a  guest  her  name! 

The  Buffalo  hotel  publishes  a  little  pamphlet 
called  the  "Statler  Service  Codes."  It  contains 
advice  to  employees,  an  explanation  of  what  is 
meant  by  good  service,  a  talk  about  tipping  and 
a  talk  to  patrons.  A  few  of  its  sayings,  copied  at 
random,  are : 

"At  rare  intervals  some  perverse  member  of 
our  force  disagrees  with  a  guest.  He  maintains 
that  this  sauce  was  ordered  when  the  guest  says 
the  other.  Or  that  the  boy  did  go  up  to  the  room. 
Or  that  it  was  a  room  reserved  and  not  dinner  for 
six.  Either  may  be  right.  But  no  employee  of 
this  hotel  is  allowed  the  privilege  of  arguing  any 
point  with  a  guest." 

"A  door  man  can  swing  the  door  in  a  manner 
to  assure  the  guest  that  he  is  in  His  Hotel,  or  he 
can  sling  it  in  a  way  that  sticks  in  the  guest's  crop 
and  makes  him  expect  to  find  at  the  desk  a  sput- 
tery  pen  sticking  in  a  potato." 

After  giving  every  thought  to  the  guest's  com- 
fort, the  end  of  the  little  book  also  asks  fairness 
on  the  part  of  the  guests.  Such  as,  not  to  say  you 
27 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

waited  fifteen  minutes  when  you  waited  barely 
five;  or  not  to  object  if  the  clerks  can't  read  your 
signature  if  you  write  in  hieroglyphics. 

In  the  morning  at  the  Statler,  a  newspaper  is 
pushed  under  your  door  and  on  it  is  a  printed  slip 
saying:  "Good  morning!  This  is  your  paper 
while  you  are  in  Buffalo."  And  when  you  are 
ready  to  leave  instead  of  calling,  "Front!  Get 
355 's  baggage!"  the  Statler  clerk  says,  "Go  up  to 
Mrs.  Post's  room  and  bring  down  her  things!" 

I  certainly  liked  it  very  much.  And  I  am  sure 
other  people  must  feel  the  same. 

If  the  hotel  tried  to  make  us  pleased  with  our- 
selves, we  were  not  allowed  to  keep  our  self-com- 
placence long.  When  we  went  to  Niagara,  we 
passed  a  sort  of  taxidermist's  museum;  its  win- 
dows at  least  were  full  of  stuffed  beasts.  The  pro- 
prietor, standing  in  front  of  it,  tried  his  best  to 
make  us  "step  inside  and  see  the  mummied  mer- 
maid" and  his  museum  of  the  greatest  educational 
wonders  of  the  world.  When  we  showed  no  inter- 
est in  his  collection  he  burst  out  with : 

"If  you're  going  to  remain  as  ignorant  about 
everything  you  come  to,  as  you  are  about  this 
wonderful  museum,  traveling  won't  educate  you 
any!" 

Put  a  little  differently,  it  might  have  hit  a  mark. 
We  had  ourselves  been  saying,  only  a  little  while 
before,  that  we  were  undoubtedly  missing  lots  of 
interesting  things  because  we  did  not  quite  know 
how  or  where  to  see  them.  Yet,  though  we  are  still 
28 


PENNSYLVANIA,  OHIO,  INDIANA 

ignorant  about  the  "wonders"  of  that  particular 
museum,  we  are  not  always  so  indifferent.  We 
have  tried  to  look  out  for  points  of  historical  value 
and  we  have  found  many  things  of  great  diversion 
to  ourselves.  In  Utica,  for  instance,  we  hung  for 
hours  over  the  railings  of  an  exhibit  of  china  mak- 
ing by  the  Syracuse  pottery  manufacturers.  There 
is  an  irresistible  fascination  in  watching  the  pot- 
ter shaping  pitchers,  and  the  decorators  putting 
decalcomania  on  plates  and  drawing  fine  gilt  lines. 
The  facility  with  which  experts  in  any  branch  of 
industry  use  their  hands  is  a  marvel  and  a  delight 
to  me.  I  could  stand  indefinitely  and  watch  a 
glass-blower,  or  a  potter,  or  a  blacksmith,  or  a 
paper  hanger — anyone  doing  anything  superla- 
tively well. 

I  am  not  thinking  of  describing  the  world's  won- 
der of  wonders,  Niagara  Falls,  because  everyone 
knows  they  are  less  than  an  hour's  run  from 
Buffalo,  with  a  splendid  wide  motor  road  leading 
out  to  them,  and  because  their  stupendous  beauty 
has  been  described  too  often. 

There  were  four  bridal  couples  with  us  in  the 
elevator  that  took  us  down  to  go  under  the  Falls. 
One  of  the  brides  was  apparently  concerned  about 
the  unbecomingness  of  the  black  rubber  mackin- 
tosh and  hood  that  everyone  puts  on,  for  her  evi- 
dently Southern  husband  said  aloud : 

"Don't  you  fret  about  it,  Nelly,  you  look  real 
sweet  in  it,  'deed  you  do ! "  Whereupon  each  of 
the  other  three  patted  around  the  edge  of  the  hood 
29 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

where  her  hair  ought  to  be,  and  glanced  a  little 
self-consciously  at  the  arbiter  of  her  own  loveli- 
ness. 

Later,  the  young  Southerner  linked  his  arm  in 
that  of  his  bride  lest  she  go  too  close  to  that  ter- 
rific torrent  of  drenching  water.  The  other  three 
pairs  walked  gingerly  through  the  soaking  rock 
galleries  in  three  closely  huddled  units.  And  the 
rest  of  us  looked  at  them  with  that  smiling  interest 
that  one  irresistibly  feels  for  happy  young  couples 
on  their  honeymoon. 

On  Sunday  evening  in  Buffalo  a  man  who  looked 
as  though  he  had  been  lifted  out  of  a  yellow  flour 
barrel  had  come  into  the  lobby  of  the  hotel.  We 
could  not  tell  whether  he  was  black  or  white  or 
even  human.  A  clerk,  seeing  us  staring,  remarked 
casually :  * '  Oh,  he 's  just  a  motorist  who  has  come 
from,  Cleveland.  Gives  you  some  idea  of  the 
roads,  doesn't  it?" 

We  started  the  next  day  therefore  in  a  rather 
disturbed  frame  of  mind,  and  soon  saw  how  on  a 
Sunday,  when  every  motorist  is  out,  he  had  looked 
as  he  did.  Even  on  Monday  the  dust  was  so  thick 
that  the  wind  blew  it  in  great  yellow  clouds,  some- 
times making  it  impossible  to  see  ahead.  But 
most  of  the  way  it  blew  to  the  left  of  us,  leaving  us 
fairly  clean  and  not  enveloping  us  unless  we  had 
to  pass  another  car  going  our  own  way.  As  we 
had  gone  out  to  the  Falls  in  the  morning,  we  did 
not  leave  Buffalo  until  about  two  o'clock,  but  in 
spite  of  bumpy  roads  and  dust  so  thick  that  it 
30 


PENNSYLVANIA,  OHIO,  INDIANA 

made  us  swerve  a  little,  we  reached  Erie  easily  at 
a  little  after  six. 

We  left  Erie  the  next  day  at  two  o'clock  and 
arrived  in  Cleveland  at  seven — which  was  as  fast 
as  the  Ohio  speed  limit  of  twenty  miles  an  hour 
would  allow.  The  road  was  much  the  same  as  it 
had  been  the  day  before.  Forty  miles  of  the  whole 
distance  was  rather  rough  and  very  dusty ;  the  rest 
was  good,  a  little  of  it  splendid. 

At  Mentor,  about  twenty-three  miles  before 
Cleveland,  we  came  to  a  number  of  beautiful 
places  that  must  have  been  the  out-of-town  homes 
of  Cleveland  people.  The  houses,  many  of  them 
enormous,  were  long,  low  and  white;  not  farm- 
houses and  not  Colonial  manor  houses,  but  a  most 
happy  adaptation  of  the  qualities  of  both;  digni- 
fied, homelike,  imposing  and  enchanting. l 

The  remark  of  the  man  at  the  museum  in  Buf- 
falo irresistibly  recurs  to  me.  We  certainly  won't 
be  " educated"  if  our  chauffeur  can  help  it!  He 
is  exactly  like  the  time  lock  on  a  safe.  Only  instead 
of  being  set  for  an  hour,  he  is  set  for  distance.  At 
Erie,  for  instance,  he  throws  in  his  clutch, '  *  Cleve- 
land?" he  asks,  and  snap!  nothing  can  make  him 
look  to  the  left  or  the  right  of  the  road  in  front 
of  him. 

"Oh,  look!  That's  the  house  where  President 
Garfield " 

Zip !  we  have  passed  it ! 

1  One  of  the  lovely  white  ones  is  the  Garfield  house,  where  the 
President's  widow  still  lives. 

31 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

"Wait  a  minute,  let  me  see  that  inscrip- 
tion  " 

We  are  half  a  mile  beyond!  We  arrive  in 
Cleveland,  when  click  goes  the  lock  and  he  stops 
dead,  and  nothing  will  make  him  go  further. 

The  food  at  the  hotel  in  Cleveland,  also  a  Stat- 
ler,  was  so  extraordinary  good  that  I  asked  where 
the  maitre  d 'hotel  and  his  chefs  had  come  from. 
I  thought  that  possibly  on  account  of  the  war  they 
had  secured  the  staff  of  Henri's  or  Voisin's  or 
Paillard's  in  Paris,  and  was  really  surprised  to 
hear  the  head  chef  was  from  Chicago  and  the 
maitre  d 'hotel  from  New  York. 

The  dining-room  service  was  quite  as  good  as 
the  food.  We  did  not  wait  more  than  a  moment 
before  they  brought  our  first  course,  and  as  soon 
as  we  had  finished  that  our  plates  were  whisked 
away  and  the  second  put  before  us.  Never,  even 
in  France,  have  we  had  better  or  more  perfectly 
cooked  chicken  casserole,  and  the  hollandaise  sauce 
on  the  asparagus  was  of  the  exact  smooth,  golden 
consistency  and  flavor  that  it  ought  to  be,  instead 
of  the  various  yellow  acids,  pastes,  and  eggy  mix- 
tures that  too  often  masquerade  under  the  name. 
Our  waiter  brought  in  crisp,  fresh  salad  and  ex- 
pertly and  quickly  made  his  own  dressing.  He 
was  in  fact  a  paragon  of  his  kind,  serving  all  of 
our  meals  without  that  everlasting  patting  and 
fussing  and  fixing  that  most  waiters  go  through 
with  until  what  you  have  ordered  is  so  shopworn 
and  handled  and  cold  that  it  is  not  fit  to  eat.  Can 
32 


PENNSYLVANIA,  OHIO,  INDIANA 

anything  be  more  unappetizing  than  to  have  a 
waiter,  or  two  of  them,  breathing  over  your  food 
for  half  an  hour  ? 

Personally  I  hate  hotel  service.  I  hate  to  be 
helped.  In  our  own  houses  even  children  of  six 
resent  it.  I  often  wonder,  why  do  we  submit  to 
having  the  piece  we  don't  want,  in  the  amount  we 
don't  want,  put  on  the  part  of  the  plate  we  don't 
want  it  on,  covering  it  with  sauce  if  we  hate  sauce, 
or  giving  us  the  dryest  wisps  if  we  like  it  other- 
wise, by  a  waiter  who  bends  unpleasantly  close? 
Why  do  we  have  everything  we  eat  pinched  be- 
tween the  fork  and  spoon  in  that  one-handed  lob- 
ster-claw fashion,  and  endure  it  in  silence?  All 
of  this  is  no  fault  of  the  waiter  who,  after  all,  is 
trying  to  do  the  best  he  can  in  the  way  that  has 
been  taught  him.  But  why  is  the  service  in  a  hotel 
so  radically  different  from  all  good  service  in  a 
private  house  ? 

Cleveland,  "the  Sixth  City"— and  she  likes  to 
have  you  know  her  rating — is  certainly  prosper- 
ous-looking and  in  many  ways  beautiful.  She 
has  wide,  roomy  streets  with  splendid  lawns  and 
trees  and  houses.  A  few  of  the  older  mansions  are 
hideous  but  enormous,  comfortable,  and  well  built. 
They  look  like  the  homes  of  people  with  no  end  of 
money  who  are  content  to  live  in  houses  of  Ameri- 
can architecture's  darkest  period  because  they  are 
used  to  them  and  often  because  their  fathers  lived 
in  them.  There  is  no  suggestion  of  the  upstart  in 
their  ugliness.  The  whole  city  impresses  one  as 
33 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

having  a  nice  fat  bank  account  and  being  in  no 
hurry  to  spend  it.  The  municipal  buildings,  how- 
ever, are  superb,  and  the  newer  dwelling  houses 
all  that  money  and  taste  can  make  them,  but  almost 
best  of  all,  I  liked  the  shops. 

In  a  big  new  one  on  Euclid  Avenue,  two  elderly 
ladies  with  much-befeathered  bonnets  were  en- 
sconced in  a  double  rolling  chair  like  those  of  the 
Atlantic  City  boardwalk.  An  attentive  young  man 
was  pushing  them  about  among  bronzes  and  por- 
celains. Stopping  before  a  shelf  of  samples  he 
asked:  "Are  any  of  these  at  all  like  the  coffee 
cups  you  are  looking  for,  Mrs.  Davis ?" 

Mrs.  Davis  was  so  absorbed  in  the  conversation 
of  her  friend  that  the  clerk  had  to  repeat  his  ques- 
tion three  times  before  her  purple  feathers  bobbed 
toward  the  coffee  cups  casually. 

"Coffee  caps?"  she  added  absently.  "I  don't 
think  I  care  about  any  today,  thank  you.  But  you 
might  drive  us  through  the  linen  department 
and  the  lamp  shades.  The  lamp  shades  are  always 
so  pretty!"  she  added  to  her  friend,  exactly  as 
though,  after  telling  her  coachman  to  drive  around 
the  east  side  of  the  park,  she  had  remarked  upon 
the  beauty  of  the  wistaria. 

"Does  that  lady  drive  about  town  in  a  rolling 
chair!"  I  asked  of  the  man  waiting  upon  us. 

"Oh,  those  chairs   are   ours,"  he   answered. 

"We  have  them   so   that   customers   can  visit 

with  each  other  and  shop  without  getting  tired. 

One  of  the  clerks  will  be  glad  to  push  you  about 

34 


• 


PENNSYLVANIA,  OHIO,  INDIANA 

in  one.  It  is  a  very  pleasant  innovation,"  he 
added,  and  out  of  courtesy  he  did  not  say  for 
whom. 

Cleveland  is  also  the  city  of  three-cent  carfares 
— in  fact  three  cents  in  Cleveland  is  almost  as  good 
as  five  cents  in  other  cities.  Lemonade  three  cents, 
moving  pictures  three  cents,  a  ball  of  pop-corn 
three  cents — a  whole  counter  full  of  small  articles 
in  one  of  the  big  stores.  Let's  all  move  to  Cleve- 
land! 

One  thing,  though,  struck  us  most  particularly 
in  the  hotels  of  Utica  and  Cleveland;  the  people 
didn't  match  the  background.  Dining  in  a  white 
marble  room  quite  faultlessly  appointed,  there  was 
not  a  man  in  evening  clothes  and  not  a  single  wo- 
man smartly  dressed  or  who  even  looked  as  though 
she  had  ever  been!  Men  in  unpressed  business 
suits,  women  in  black  skirts  and  white  shirtwaists 
are  appropriate  to  the  imitation  wood  or  plaster 
walls  of  some  of  the  eating  places  that  we  have 
been  in,  but  in  a  beautiful  hotel  like  the  Statler 
in  Cleveland,  and  especially  in  the  evening,  they 
spoil  the  picture. 

From  Cleveland  to  Toledo  the  roads  are  very 
like  those  of  France,  they  have  wonderful  founda- 
tions but  badly  worn  surfaces.  Much  the  best 
hotel  in  Toledo  is  the  Secor,  and  the  restaurant, 
which  made  no  attempt  at  imitating  French  cook- 
ing, was  good. 

There  was  a  most  beautiful  art  museum  in  To- 
ledo, a  small  building  pure  Greek  in  style  and  set 
35 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

like  a  jewel  against  pyramidal  evergreens.  It  is 
quite  the  loveliest  thing  we  have  seen. 

Because  of  Ohio's  speed  restrictions,  twenty 
miles  fastest  going  and  eight  for  villages,  etc., 
one  must  either  spend  days  in  crawling  across  the 
state  or  break  the  law.  As  is  usually  the  case 
with  unreasonable  laws,  few  keep  them,  or  else  the 
motoring  Ohioans  interpret  their  speed  laws 
rather  liberally.  Of  the  hundreds  of  motors  we 
met  in  Ohio,  especially  near  Cleveland,  which  is 
one  of  the  biggest  automobile  centers  in  the  coun- 
try, scarcely  one,  even  within  the  city  limits,  was 
going  less  than  twenty-five  miles  an  hour. 

However,  as  it  is  not  courteous  for  the  stranger 
to  dash  lawlessly  through  at  faster  than  the 
twelve-mile  average  prescribed  by  law,  the  run 
from  Toledo  to  South  Bend,  a  distance  of  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty-two  miles,  will  take  from  twelve  to 
fourteen  hours.  The  road  is  good,  most  of  it,  but 
sandwiched  between  occasional  poor  stretches. 

We  lunched  at  Bryan  at  the  Christman  Hotel. 
It  was  here  that  I  heard  a  new  retort  courteous. 
I  had  dropped  a  veil ;  a  youth  picked  it  up.  I  said, 
" Thank  you."  He  replied  politely,  "Yours 
truly!" 

The  Oliver,  "Indiana's  finest  hotel,"  at  South 
Bend  is  good,  clean,  well  run,  with  a  Louis  Qua- 
torze  dining-room  in  black  and  white.  The  black 
and  white  craze  is  raging  here  quite  as  much  as 
in  New  York. 


CHAPTER  V 

LUGGAGE  AND  OTHER  LUXURIES 

NEVEE  in  the  world  did  people  have  so  much 
luggage  with  nowhere  to  put  it  and  nothing 
in  it  when  it  is  put!  Each  black  piece  is 
bursting !  Yet  everything  we  have  with  us  is  the 
wrong  thing  and  just  so  much  to  take  care  of  with- 
out any  compensating  comfort.  We  have  gradu- 
ally eliminated  everything  we  could  until  now 
we  have  just  enough  for  three  hallboys  on  our 
arrival  and  three  porters  on  our  departure  to 
stagger  under.  Then  too,  although  possibly  all 
right  for  a  man  and  wife,  sharing  the  motor  trunk 
with  a  son  is  an  inconvenience  unimagined!  If 
the  trunk  is  put  in  my  room,  he  finds  himself 
somewhere  on  another  floor  or  at  the  end  of  an 
interminable  corridor  unable  to  get  his  pajamas 
without  entirely  redressing.  If  the  trunk  is  in  his 
room  I  have  to  hunt  for  him,  get  his  key,  and  bring 
the  trays  to  my  room.  Packing  one  trunk  in  two 
rooms  at  once  is  even  more  difficult.  Con- 
sequently, he  has  in  desperation  bought  a  "suit- 
case." It  is  orange-colored,  made  of  paper,  I 
think,  and  it  also  makes  one  more  lump  of  bag- 
gage to  be  carried  up  and  down  and  packed  on  top 
of  our  traveling  companion. 
37 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

The  thermometer  was  at  about  thirty  when  we 
left  home,  so  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  serge 
coats  of  heavy  weight,  plaited  skirts  also  nice  and 
warm,  sweaters  of  various  thicknesses,  and  fur 
coats.  There  came  almost  a  break  in  a  heretofore 
happy  family  when  I  insisted  that  over  the  Rocky 
Mountains  our  "chauffeur"  would  need  his  heavi- 
est coat.  He  refused  to  take  a  coonskin — 
Heaven  praise  his  intuition  on  that! — but  oblig- 
ingly brought  a  huge  ulster.  We  had  not  gone 
fifty  miles  from  New  York  when  the  sun  came  out 
hot  and  has  ever  since  then  been  trying  to  show 
how  heat  is  produced  in  the  tropics.  Our  car  is 
loaded  down  with  wraps  for  the  Rockies,  and  in 
this  sweltering  heat  not  one  thin  dress  have  I 
brought. 

In  every  way  my  clothes  are  a  trial  and  dis- 
appointment. A  taffeta  afternoon  dress  that  was 
intended  to  give  me  a  smart  appearance  when- 
ever I  might  want  to  look  otherwise  than  as  a 
bedraggled  tripper  comes  out  of  the  trunk  look- 
ing like  crinkled  crepon.  I  thought  of  pretending 
that  it  was  crinkled  crepon,  but  its  crinkle  was 
somehow  not  quite  right  in  evenness  or  design. 
There  is  also  a  coat  and  skirt  of  a  basket  weave 
material  that  I  had  made  especially  to  be  service- 
able motoring.  I  don't  know  what  sort  of  dresses 
would  have  packed  better,  but  I  am  sure  none 
could  be  worse.  In  fact,  I  unhesitatingly  chal- 
lenge these  two  of  mine  against  the  most  perish- 
able clothes  that  anyone  can  produce,  that  mine 
38 


LUGGAGE  AND  OTHER  LUXURIES 

will  wrinkle  more  and  deeper  and  sooner  than  any 
others  in  existence. 

I  have,  however,  found  one  small  article  that  I 
happen  to  have  brought,  a  great  success,  and  that 
is  a  lace  veil  with  a  good  deal  of  pattern — one  of 
those  things  that  make  you  look  as  though  some- 
thing queer  was  the  matter  with  your  face — unless 
there  is  something  the  matter  with  your  face,  in 
which  case  it  takes  all  the  blame.  In  doing  the 
same  thing  every  day  you  find  you  shake  down  to 
a  rather  regular  system.  As  we  come  into  the 
outskirts  of  the  city  where  we  are  to  spend  the 
night,  I  take  off,  in  the  car,  my  goggles  and  the 
swathing  of  veils  that  I  wear  touring,  and  put  on 
the  lace  one.  The  transformation  from  blown- 
about  hair  and  dusty  face  to  a  tidy  disguise  of  all 
blemishes  is  quite  miraculous.  Dusters  are  ugly 
things,  but  as  every  woman  who  motors  knows, 
there  is  nothing  so  practical.  I  don't  think  per- 
sonally that  silk  ones  can  be  compared  for  sense 
and  comfort  with  those  of  dust-colored  linen  or 
cotton.  Silk  sheds  the  dust  perhaps  a  little  better, 
but  wrinkles  more.  At  all  events,  I  find  that  by 
putting  my  lace  veil  on  and  taking  my  duster  off, 
I  can  walk  up  to  the  desk  and  register  without 
being  taken  for  a  vagrant.  The  lady  who  was 
traveling  with  us  is  one  of  those  aggravating 
women  who  stay  tidy.  She  keeps  her  gloves  on 
and  her  hands  dustless.  But  even  she  saw  the 
transforming  possibilities  of  a  lace  veil  and 
soon  bought  one  too. 

39 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

Hotels,  however,  are  very  lenient  in  the  matter 
of  the  appearance  of  guests,  because  of  all  the 
begrimed-looking  tramps,  our  "chauffeur"  after 
driving  ten  hours  or  so  in  the  sifting  dust  is  the 
grimiest.  The  only  reason  why  he  is  not  taken 
for  a  professional  driver  is  because  no  one  would 
hire  anyone  so  disreputable-looking. 

In  one  hotel,  though,  a  grimy  working  mechanic 
having  gone  up  in  the  elevator  and  a  strange,  per- 
fectly well  turned  out  person  having  come  down, 
the  confused  clerk  asked  where  the  chauffeur  went 
and  did  the  new  gentleman  want  a  room? 


CHAPTER  VI 
DID  ANYBODY  SAY  "CHICKEN"? 

SOMETIMES  we  take  luncheon  with  us  and 
sometimes  we  don't.  If  we  do,  we  see  nice, 
clean-looking  places  on  the  road,  such  as  the 
Parmly  at  Plainsville  between  Erie  and  Cleveland 
and  the  Avelon  at  Norwalk  between  Cleveland  and 
Toledo;  if  we  don't  we  find  nothing  but  hotels  of 
the  saloon-front  and  ladies '-entrance-in- the-back 
variety. 

Between  South  Bend  and  Chicago  we  had  not 
intended  to  stop,  but  found  ourselves  rather  hun- 
gry and  unwilling  to  wait  until  about  three  o'clock 
to  lunch  in  Chicago.  We  looked  in  the  Blue  Book 
and  saw  the  advertisement  of  a  restaurant  a  few 
miles  ahead.  "Mrs.  Seth  Brown.  Chicken  din- 
ners a  specialty."  That  is  not  her  real  name. 

The  very  words  "chicken  dinner"  made  us  sud- 
denly conscious  that  we  were  ravenous. 

"Do  you  remember  the  chicken  dinners  at  the 
different  places  near  Bar  Harbor?"  reminisced 
the  lady-who-was-traveling-with-us.  I  am  not  go- 
ing to  call  her  that  any  more!  It  is  too  long  to 
say.  I  will  call  her  '  *  Celia ' '  instead.  It  is  not  her 
name,  but  it  is  an  anagram  of  it,  which  will  do  as 
well.  Also  a  repetition  of  our  "chauffeur"  sounds 
41 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

tiresome,  and  his  own  initials  of  E.  M.  would  be 
much  simpler. 

Anyway,  all  three  of  us  conjured  up  visions  of 
the  chicken  that  was  in  a  little  while  going  to  be 
set  before  us. 

"  Country  chickens  are  so  much  better  than 
town  ones!"  said  Celia.  "They  are  never  the 
same  after  they  have  been  packed  in  ice  and 
shipped,  and  I  do  wonder  whether  it  will  be 
broiled,  with  crisp  fried  potatoes,  or  whether  it 
will  be  fried  with  corn  fritters  and  bacon ! ' ' 

" — And  pop-overs,"  suggested  E.  M. 

"Couldn't  we  drive  a  little  faster?"  I  asked. 
For  by  now  my  imagination  had  conjured  up  not 
only  the  actual  aroma  of  deliciously  broiled 
chicken,  but  I  was  already  putting  fresh  country 
butter  on  crisp  hot  pop-overs.  But  in  my  greedi- 
ness for  the  delectable  dinner  that  was  awaiting 
us,  I  lost  my  place  in  the  Blue  Book.  Nothing  that 
I  could  find  any  longer  tallied  with  the  road  we 
were  on,  and  it  took  us  at  least  half  an  hour  to  find 
ourselves  again.  By  the  time  we  finally  reached 
the  little  town  of  delectable  dinners  we  were  so 
hungry  we  would  have  thought  any  kind  of  old 
fowl  good.  But  search  as  we  might  we  could  not 
discover  any  place  that  looked  even  remotely  like 
a  restaurant.  There  was  a  saloon,  and  a  factory, 
and  some  small  frame  tenements.  Nothing  else 
in  the  place.  Inquiring  of  some  men  standing  on 
a  corner,  one  of  them  answered,  *  *  The  ladies '  en- 
trance of  the  saloon  is  Mrs.  Seth  Brown's  place, 
42 


DID  ANYBODY  SAY  "CHICKEN"? 

and  the  eating's  all  right. ' '  We  were  very  hungry 
and  the  lure  of  chicken  being  strong,  also  feeling 
that  perhaps  the  interior  might  prove  better  than 
the  entrance  promised,  we  went  in.  In  the  rear  of 
a  bar  was  a  dingy  room  smelling  of  fried  fat  and 
stale  beer.  There  were  three  groups  of  perfectly 
respectable-looking  people  sitting  at  three  tables. 
A  barkeeper  with  a  collarless  shirt,  ragged  apron, 
and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  sat  us  at  a  fourth  table 
with  a  coffee-stained  cloth  on  it,  rusty  black-han- 
dled cutlery,  and  plates  that  were  a  little  dusty. 

" What  y 'want?" 

"Do  you  serve  chicken  dinners?"  I  asked. 

"D'ye  see  it  advertised?" 

"Yes,  in  the  Blue  Book." 

"Y'  c'n  have  dinner,"  he  said  as  though  he  was 
obliged  against  his  inclination  to  live  up  to  his  ad- 
vertisement. 

E.  M.  was  drawing  water  out  of  the  well  to  fill 
the  radiator  tank.  Celia  and  I  began  wiping  off 
the  plates  and  forks  on  the  corners  of  the  table- 
cloth. 

At  the  table  nearest  us  were  four  men  and  a 
woman.  One  of  the  men  kept  hugging  the  woman, 
who  paid  no  attention  to  him.  Two  of  the  others 
went  continually  back  and  forth  to  the  bar,  while 
the  fourth  was  occupied  solely  with  his  food.  At 
another  table  was  a  family  motoring  party,  and 
at  the  third,  a  second  family,  with  a  baby  that 
cried  without  stopping  and  a  little  child  who 
screamed  from  time  to  time  in  chorus. 
43 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

Our  chicken  dinner  proved  to  be  some  greasy 
fried  fish,  cold  bluish  potatoes,  sliced  raw  onions, 
pickled  gherkins,  bread  and  coffee. 

We  ate  some  bread  and  drank  the  coffee.  If  we 
had  been  blindfolded  it  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad. 

There  is  one  consoling  feature  in  such  an  inci- 
dent, that  although  it  is  not  especially  enjoyable 
at  the  time,  it  is  just  such  experiences  and  disap- 
pointments, of  course,  that  make  the  high  spots  of 
a  whole  motor  trip  in  looking  back  upon  it.  It 
is  your  troubles  on  the  road,  your  bad  meals  in 
queer  places,  your  unexpected  stops  at  people's 
houses;  in  short,  your  misadventures  that  after- 
wards become  your  most  treasured  memories.  In 
fact,  after  years  of  touring,  I  have  in  a  vague, 
ragged  sort  of  way  tried  to  hold  to  what  might  be 
called  a  motor  philosophy.  Anyway,  I  have  found 
it  a  splendid  idea  when  things  go  very  uncomfort- 
ably to  remember — if  I  can — what  a  very  charm- 
ing diplomat,  who  was  also  a  great  traveler,  once 
told  me :  that  in  motoring,  as  in  life,  since  trouble 
gives  character,  obstacles  and  misadventures  are 
really  necessary  to  give  the  trip  character !  The 
peaceful  motorist  who  has  no  motor  trouble  or 
weather  trouble  or  road  trouble  has  a  pleasant 
enough  time,  but  after  all  he  gets  the  least  out  of 
it  in  the  way  of  recollections.  Not  that  our  one 
disappointment  about  our  chicken  dinner  is  meant 
to  serve  as  a  backbone  of  character  for  this  trip, 
neither  do  I  hope  we  shall  run  into  any  serious 
misadventure,  but  I  really  quite  honestly  hope 
44 


DID  ANYBODY  SAY  "CHICKEN"? 

that  everything  will  not  be  so  easy  as  to  be  en- 
tirely colorless. 

I  was  turning  these  thoughts  over  in  my  mind 
as  we  sped  on  to  Chicago  and  they  suggested  a 
most  discouraging  possibility,  which  I  immedi- 
ately confided  to  Celia : 

''Suppose  so  little  happens  that  there  will  be 
nothing  to  write  about!  No  one  wants  descrip- 
tions of  scenery  or  too  many  details  of  directions 
as  to  roads  or  hotels,  and  supposing  that  is  all  we 
know?" 

1  'You  could  make  some  up,  couldn't  you?"  said 
she  sympathetically. 

"Do  you  think  that  I  could  tell  you  a  lot  of 
things  that  never  happened  and  that  you  would 
believe  me  ? "  I  asked. 

She  answered  positively:  "Of  course  you 
couldn't." 

"Then  I'm  certain  nobody  else  would  believe 
me  either." 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  they  would,"  she  agreed, 
but  suddenly  she  suggested:  "I  tell  you  what  we 
could  do.  We  could  stop  over  in  little  places  and 
pass  those  where  we  mean  to  stop — and  we  can 
in  many  ways  make  ourselves  uncomfortable,  if 
you  think  it  necessary  for  interesting  material." 

But  our  conversation  turned  at  that  point  into 
admiration  of  our  surroundings ;  for  we  had  come 
into  a  long  drive  through  a  park  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  Lake  that  is  the  beautiful,  welcoming  en- 
trance to  Chicago. 

45 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  CITY  OF  AMBITION 

WE  arrived  yesterday  at  "America 'a  most 
perfect  hotel. ' '  We  are  still  a  little  over- 
awed. So  far  we  have  only  been  in  hotels 
that  have  prided  themselves  on  being  the  "best 
hotel  in  the  state"  or  the  "best  hotel  in  the  Mid- 
dle West,"  but  Chicago's  pride  throws  down  the 
gauntlet  to  America,  North  and  South,  and  coast 
to  coast.  I  have  never  heard  that  Chicago  did 
anything  by  halves !  ' '  The  world  will  take  you  at 
your  own  valuation."  Maybe  the  maxim  orig- 
inated in  Chicago. 

America's  best  hotel  looks  like  a  huge  tower  of 
chocolate  cake  covered  with  confectioner's  icing. 
If  it  were  cake,  it  might  easily  be  the  biggest  piece 
of  chocolate  in  the  world,  but  for  "America's 
best" — probably  because  the  word  "best"  in 
America  has  come  to  mean  also  "biggest" — the 
Blackstone  seems  rather  small.  Still,  I  don 't  think 
it  boasts  of  being  anything  except  the  finest  and 
foremost,  most  perfect  and  complete  hotel  in  the 
Western  Hemisphere. 

The  lobby  as  you  enter  it  is  very  like  the  thick 
chocolate  center  of  the  cake  and  gives  a  slightly 
stuffy  impression  that  is  felt  in  no  other  part  of 
46 


THE  CITY  OF  AMBITION 

the  really  beautiful  interior.  The  cerise  and 
cream-colored  dining-room,  in  which  for  afternoon 
tea  they  take  up  the  center  carpet  and  remove 
some  tables,  leaving  a  hollow  square  of  gray  mar- 
ble tiling  to  dance  on,  is  the  most  beautiful  room 
that  I  have  ever  seen  anywhere,  not  excepting 
Paris.  The  white  marble  simplicity  of  the  second 
dining-room  also  appealed  to  me,  and  the  upstairs 
halls  are  like  those  in  a  great  private  country 
house. 

The  restaurant  we  find  for  its  standard  of  high 
prices  not  very  good.  The  food  at  the  Statler  in 
Cleveland  was  the  best  we  have  had  anywhere,  and 
the  prices  were  half.  Perhaps  we  ordered,  by 
luck,  the  Statler 's  specialties  and  the  dishes  that 
the  Blackstone  prepares  least  well. 

The  room  service,  however,  is  well  done,  with 
a  lamp  under  the  coffee  pot  and  a  chafing  dish  for 
anything  that  ought  to  be  kept  hot.  Yet  my  cof- 
fee this  morning  had  a  flavor  not  at  all  associated 
with  memories  of  best  hotels,  but  reminiscent  of 
little  inns  that  one  stops  at  in  motoring  through 
France,  Germany,  or  Italy.  There  should  have 
been  a  sourish  bread  and  fresh  flower-flavored 
honey  to  go  with  it.  It  leaves  a  copperish  taste 
in  the  mouth  long  afterward. 

In  defense  of  the  management,  I  ought  to  add 
that  we  take  our  coffee  at  the  abnormally  early 
hour  of  seven,  and  the  coffee  for  such  as  we  is 
probably  kept  over  in  a  copper  boiler  from  the 
night  before.  Still,  ought  this  to  happen  in  the 
47 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

best  hotel,  even  if  only  of  the  Western  Hemi- 
sphere? 

Our  rooms  high  up  and  overlooking  the  lake 
are  lovely,  perfectly  appointed,  and  with  an  en- 
trancing view  of  moonlight  on  the  water.  The 
furnishings  of  the  bedrooms  are  very  like  those 
of  the  Eitz  hotels,  and  the  prices  are  reasonable 
considering  the  high  quality  of  their  accommoda- 
tions. The  three-dollar-and-a-half  rooms  are 
small,  light,  and  completely  comfortable ;  for  seven 
dollars  one  can  have  a  big  room  overlooking  the 
lake,  both  of  course  including  bathrooms  with  out- 
side windows  and  all  the  latest  Ritz-Carlton  type 
of  furnishings,  and — I  must  not  forget — linen 
sheets  and  pillow  cases,  the  first  real  linen  we  have 
seen  since  we  left  home !  Also  the  reading  lamp 
by  my  bed  has  a  shade,  pink  on  the  outside  and 
lined  with  white  and  a  generous  flare,  that  I  can 
read  by. 

At  the  Statler  in  Cleveland  there  was  an  exceed- 
ingly pretty  bed  table  lamp  with  a  silk  shade  on  it 
of  Alice  blue  and  a  little  gold  lace,  but  one  might 
as  well  have  tried  to  read  by  the  light  of  a  cap- 
tured firefly  tied  up  in  blue  tissue  paper.  I  tried 
to  get  the  shade  off  but  it  was  locked  on — to  pre- 
vent guests  from  ironing  or  stealing  the  shade  or 
the  bulb?  At  any  rate,  since  nothing  could  part 
the  cover  from  the  fixture,  and  reading  in  the  blue, 
glimmering  gloom  was  impossible,  I  was  obliged 
to  get  to  sleep  by  watching  the  members  of  a  club 
in  the  building  opposite  smoking  and  lounging, 
48 


THE  CITY  OF  AMBITION 

exactly  like  the  drummers  downstairs — down- 
stairs in  Cleveland,  not  here. 

The  ubiquitous  drummer  is  not  in  evidence  as  he 
was  in  northern  New  York,  Indiana,  and  Ohio. 
The  people  down  these  stairs  are  more  like  the 
people  one  sees  in  the  hotels  in  New  York,  Boston, 
or  Philadelphia.  In  the  other  cities  we  have  come 
through  there  were  traveling  men  to  the  right  of 
us  and  traveling  men  to  the  left  of  us,  with  hats 
on  the  backs  of  their  heads  and  cigars — segars, 
looks  more  like  it — tilted  in  the  corners  of  their 
mouths.  Traveling  men  standing  and  leaning, 
traveling  men  leaning  a'nd  sitting,  but  always  men 
in  cigar  smoke,  talking  and  lounging  and  taking 
their  rest  in  the  lobbies. 

Like  the  drummers,  I  shall  soon  have  all  the 
hotels  in  the  country  at  my  finger  ends;  the  ad- 
vantages, disadvantages,  and  peculiarities  of  each. 
Already  I  could  write  a  treatise  on  plumbing  ap- 
paratus !  The  Statler  in  Cleveland  had  an  * '  anti- 
scald"  device.  I  read  about  it  in  the  "service 
booklet"  afterward.  The  curious-looking  handles 
and  levers  occupying  most  of  a  white-tiled  wall  at 
the  head  of  the  bathtub  so  fascinated  me  that  I 
had  to  try  and  see  how  they  worked.  I  pulled 
knobs  and  pushed  buttons  that  seemingly  were  for 
ornament  merely,  until  suddenly  a  harmless- 
looking  handle  let  loose  a  roaring  spray  of  water 
that  came  from  every  part  of  the  amateur  Niagara 
at  once.  My  bath  was  over  before  I  had  meant  it 
to  begin,  and  I  got  undressed  afterward  instead 
49 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

of  before.  But  I  like  the  bathrooms  with  running 
ice-water  faucets,  and  I  love  to  examine  the  wares 
in  the  automatic  machines,  also  placed  in  the  bath- 
rooms. They  look  like  a  miniature  row  of  nickel 
telephone  booths,  each  displaying  a  bottle  or  box 
through  the  closed  glass  door,  each  with  a  slot  to 
drop  a  quarter  in  and  a  knob  to  pull  your  chosen 
box  or  bottle  out  with.  The  tantalizing  thing 
about  them  is  that  they  hold  very  little  of  use 
to  me.  I  don't  like  the  kind  of  cold  cream  they 
carry;  the  toothbrushes  are  usually  sold  out,  and 
razors  and  shaving  soap  don't  really  tempt 
me. 

There  are  paper  bags  in  the  closets  to  send  your 
laundry  away  in  and  a  notice  that  all  washing  sent 
to  the  desk  before  nine  in  the  morning  will  be  re- 
turned by  five  in  the  afternoon.  If  only  they  could 
run  an  owl  laundry,  taking  your  things  at  nine 
in  the  evening  and  returning  them  at  five  in  tho 
morning,  it  would  be  much  more  convenient  for 
people  who  arrive  at  night  and  leave  in  the  early 
dawn. 

I  should  like  to  make  a  collection  of  hotel  signs, 
such  as  plates  on  the  bedroom  doors  saying, 
"Stop!  Have  you  forgotten  something1?"  And 
in  the  bathroom  the  same  sentiments  and  an  addi- 
tional "How  about  that  razor  strop?" 

While  waiting  for  my  change  in  one  of  the  big 
department  stores  I  overheard  the  following  con- 
versation between  two  women  directly  beside  me : 
50 


THE  CITY  OF  AMBITION 

"So  you  like  living  in  the  city,  do  you?"  said 
one. 

"Sure!"  answered  the  other.  "You  can  run 
into  the  stores  as  often  as  you  feel  like  it,  and  if 
you  get  lonesome  you  can  go  to  the  movies  or  a 
vaudeville  show,  or  you  can  walk  up  Michigan 
Avenue  and  see  the  styles — there's  always  some- 
thing going  on  in  the  city." 

"I  dare  say  you  get  used  to  it  and  feel  you 
couldn't  give  it  up,  but  what  I  never  could  get  used 
to  is  one  of  them  flats.  Now  out  at  home,  we've 
got  a  fifteen-room  house,  all  hardwood  floors " 

"What  d'you  want  all  that  room  for?  You've 
only  got  to  spend  money  to  furnish  it  and  elbow 
grease  to  care  for  it.  You  need  two  girls  or  more. 
Now,  we've  got  a  flat  all  fixed  up  nice  and  cozy 
and  one  girl  takes  care  of  it  easy." 

"Well,  I  guess  it's  all  right,  but  if  I  had  to  bring 
my  babies  out  of  the  good  country  air  and  put 
them  in  a  flat,  I  think  they  'd  die  I " 


CHAPTER  VIII 
A  FEW  CHICAGOANS 

THE  disappointing  and  unsatisfactory  thing 
about  a  motor  trip  is  that  unless  you  have 
unlimited  time,  which  few  people  ever  seem 
to  have,  you  stop  too  short  a  while  in  each  place 
to  know  anything  at  all  about  it.  You  arrive  at 
night  and  leave  early  in  the  morning  and  all  you 
see  is  one  street  driving  in,  and  another  going 
out,  and  the  lobby,  dining-room  and  a  bedroom  or 
two  at  the  hotel. 

Happily  for  us,  we  have  been  staying  several 
days  in  Chicago,  and,  while  we  can  scarcely  be 
said  to  know  the  city  well,  we  have  had  at  least 
a  few  glimpses  of  her  life  and  have  met  quite  a 
few  of  her  people. 

Last  evening  at  a  dinner  given  for  us,  our  host- 
ess explained  that  she  had  asked  the  most  typical 
Chicagoans  she  could  think  of,  and  that  one  of 
the  most  representative  of  them  was  to  take  me 
in  to  dinner.  "He  is  so  enthusiastic,  he  is  what 
some  people  would  call  a  booster, ' '  she  whispered 
just  before  she  introduced  him. 

In  books  and  articles  I  had  read  of  persons 
called  "boosters,"  and  had  thought  of  them  as 
persons  slangy  as  their  sobriquet;  blustering, 
52 


A  FEW  CHICAGOANS 

noisy  braggarts,  disagreeable  in  every  way.  I 
think  the  one  last  night  must  have  been  a  very  su- 
perior quality.  He  was  neither  noisy  nor  dis- 
agreeable; on  the  contrary,  he  was  most  charm- 
ing and  seemed  really  trying  not  to  be  a  booster  at 
all  if  he  could  help  it. 

He  began  by  asking  me  eagerly  how  we  liked 
Chicago.  Had  we  thought  the  Lake  Shore  Drive 
beautiful?  Were  we  struck  with  Chicago's  small- 
ness  compared  to  New  York?  I  told  him  we  had, 
and  we  were  not.  He  thereupon  generously  but 
reluctantly  admitted — the  list  is  his  own — that 
probably  New  York  had  more  tall  buildings,  more 
wholesale  hat  and  ribbon  houses,  a  bigger  museum 
of  art,  a  few  more  theaters,  and  yes,  undoubtedly, 
more  millionaires'  palaces,  but — he  suddenly 
straightened  up — "Chicago  has  more  real  homes! 
And  when  it  comes  to  beauty,  has  New  York  any- 
thing to  compare  with  Chicago's  boulevard  sys- 
tems of  parks  edged  by  the  lake  and  jeweled  with 
lagoons?  And  yet  she  is  the  greatest  railroad 
center  in  the  whole  world.  And  let  me  tell  you 
this,"  he  paused.  "New  York  can  never  equal 
Chicago  commercially!  How  can  she?  Look  on 
the  map  and  see  for  yourself !  From  New  York  to 
San  Francisco,  north  to  the  lakes  and  south  to 
Mexico — that's  where  Chicago's  trade  reaches! 
What  is  there  left  for  New  York  after  that?  She 
can,  of  course,  trade  north  to  Boston  and  south 
to  Washington,  but  she  can't  go  west,  because  Chi- 
cago reaches  all  the  way  to  New  York  herself,  and 
53 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

there  is  nothing  on  the  east  except  the  Atlantic 
Ocean!" 

After  dinner  we  were  taken  to  the  small  dancing 
club,  a  one-storied  pavilion  containing  only  a  ball- 
room with  a  service  pantry  in  the  back,  that  a  few 
fashionables  of  Chicago  built  in  a  moment  of 
dancing  enthusiasm.  Although  we  met  compara- 
tively few  people  and  had  little  opportunity  to 
talk  to  anyone,  I  noticed  everywhere  the  same  at- 
titude as  that  of  my  companion  at  dinner.  The 
women  had  it  as  much  as  the  men.  As  soon  as 
they  heard  we  were  from  New  York  they  began 
to  laud  Chicago. 

Mrs.  X.,  one  of  their  most  prominent  hostesses 
and  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  faultlessly 
turned  out  people  I  have  ever  seen,  instead  of  talk- 
ing impersonalities  as  would  a  New  York  woman 
of  like  position,  plunged  immediately  into  the  com- 
parison of  New  York's  shoreline  of  unsightly 
docks  with  the  view  across  her  own  lawn  to  the 
Lake.  Imagine  a  typical  hostess  of  Fifth  Avenue 
greeting  a  stranger  with :  "How  do  you  do,  Mrs. 
Pittsburgh ;  our  city  is  twice  as  clean  as  yours ! ' ' 
However,  I  felt  I  had  to  say  something  in  defense 
of  mine,  so  I  remarked  that  the  houses  on  Eiver- 
side  Drive  faced  the  Hudson,  and  across  a  green 
terrace,  too. 

"Oh,  but  the  Palisades  opposite  are  so  hid- 
eously disfigured  with  signs,"  she  objected,  "and 
besides  none   of  your  really  fashionable  world 
lives  on  your  upper  West  Side. '  ' 
54 


A  FEW  CHICAGOANS 

Having  staked  ont  our  fashionable  boundaries 
for  us,  she  switched  the  topic  to  country  clubs. 
Had  we  been  to  any  of  them? 

We  had  been  given  a  dinner  at  the  Saddle  and 
Cycle  Club,  and  we  had  to  admit  it  was  quite  true 
that  New  York  had  nothing  in  its  immediate  vicin- 
ity to  compare  with  the  terrace  on  which  we  had 
dined,  directly  on  the  Lake,  and  apparently  in 
the  heart  of  the  wilderness,  although  the  heart  of 
Chicago  was  only  a  few  minutes '  drive  away. 

1 1  You  must  come  out  to  Wheaton  and  lunch  with 
us  tomorrow ! ' '  Mrs.  X.  said.  You  could  tell  from 
her  tone  that  she  was  now  speaking  of  her  par- 
ticularly favorite  club.  *  *  I  think  they  will  be  play- 
ing polo,  but  anyway  you  must  see  what  a  beauti- 
ful spot  we  have  made  of  it,  and  there  wasn't  even 
a  tree  on  the  place  when  we  started — we  have  done 
everything  ourselves." 

Doing  things  themselves  seemed  to  me  chief 
characteristic  of  the  Chicagoans.  A '  *  do-nothing" 
must  be  about  the  most  opprobrious  name  that 
could  be  given  a  man.  Nearly  all  of  Chicago's 
prominent  citizens  are  self-made — and  proud  of 
it.  Millionaire  after  millionaire  will  tell  you  of 
the  day  when  he  wore  ragged  clothes,  ran  bare- 
footed, sold  papers,  cleaned  sidewalks,  drove  gro- 
cers' wagons,  and  did  any  job  he  could  find  to  get 
along.  And  then  came  opportunity,  not  driving 
up  in  a  golden  chariot,  either!  But  more  often 
a  trudging  wayfarer  to  be  accompanied  long  and 
wearily.  You  cannot  but  admire  the  straightfor- 
55 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

wardness — even  the  pride  with  which  these  suc- 
cessful men  recount  their  meager  beginnings,  as 
well  as  the  ability  that  always  underlies  the  suc- 
cess. 

Another  thing  that  impressed  us  was  that  clev- 
erness is  rather  the  rule  than  the  exception,  and 
the  general  topics  of  conversation  are  more  worth 
listening  to  than  average  topics  elsewhere.  For 
instance,  their  city  is  a  factor  of  vital  interest  to 
them,  and  therefore  their  keenness  on  the  subject 
of  politics  and  all  municipal  matters  is  equaled 
possibly  in  English  society  only.  They  are  also 
interested  in  inventions,  in  science,  in  all  real 
events  and  affairs,  both  at  home  and  abroad.  At 
least  this  is  what  we  found  there,  and  what  I  am 
told  by  many  people  who  have  spent  much  time 
in  Chicago. 

To  compare  Chicago  with  Boston  is  much  like 
comparing  a  dynamo  with  a  marble  monument, 
yet  paradoxically  there  is  a  strong  similarity  be- 
tween the  two.  There  is  no  public  place  where 
people  congregate.  Both  are  cities  of  homes,  and 
hotel  life  has  little  part  in  the  society  of  either. 
Boston  society  is  possibly  the  most  distinguished 
in  America — and  Boston  front  doors  will  never 
open  to  you  unless  you  have  cultivation  and  birth 
to  the  extent  of  proving  satisfactorily  who  your 
grandparents  were.  Chicago,  of  course,  cares  not 
at  all,  in  a  Boston  sense,  who  your  grandfather 
was  so  long  as  he  was  not  a  half-wit  who  trans- 
ferred his  mental  deficiency  to  you.  Boston  so- 
56 


A  FEW  CHICAGOANS 

ciety  is  distinguished  and  cultivated.  Chicago  so- 
ciety interesting  and  stimulating.  At  least  that 
is  what  the  people  I  have  met  in  these  two  cities 
seem  to  me. 

But  to  go  back  to  the  evening  of  our  first  dinner 
party  in  Chicago :  the  attitude  of  everyone  rather 
puzzled  and  not  a  little  amused  me,  and  after  I 
had  gone  to  bed  I  lay  awake,  and  their  remarks, 
especially  those  of  the  man  at  dinner,  recurred  to 
me  and  I  began  to  laugh — then  suddenly  stopped. 

The  mere  bragging  about  the  greatness  and  big- 
ness of  his  city  was  not  the  point;  the  point  was 
his  caring.  The  Chicagoans  love  their  city,  not  as 
though  it  were  a  city  at  all,  but  as  though  it  were 
their  actual  flesh  and  blood.  They  look  at  it  in  the 
way  a  mother  looks  at  her  child,  thinking  it  the 
brightest,  most  beautiful  and  wonderful  baby  in 
the  whole  world.  Tell  a  mother  that  Mrs.  Smith's 
baby  is  the  loveliest  and  cleverest  prodigy  you 
have  ever  seen,  and  her  feelings  will  be  those  ex- 
actly of  Chicagoans  if  you  tell  them  anything  that 
could  be  construed  into  an  unfavorable  compari- 
son. They  can't  bear  New  York  any  more  than 
the  mother  can  bear  Mrs.  Smith's  baby.  At  the 
very  sight  of  a  New  Yorker  they  nettle  and  their 
minds  flurry  around  and  gather  up  quickly  every 
point  of  possible  advantage  to  their  own  beloved 
Chicago.  Not  for  a  second  am  I  ridiculing  them 
any  more  than  I  would  ridicule  the  sacredness  of 
a  man 's  belief  in  prayer.  Their  love  of  their  city 
is  something  wonderful,  glorious,  sublime.  They 
57 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

don't  brag  for  the  sake  of  bragging,  but  they 
champion  her  with  every  last  red  corpuscle  in 
their  heart's  blood  because  they  so  loyally  and 
tremendously  care. 

I  wonder,  is  it  their  attitude  that  has  affected 
us,  too  ?  Otherwise  why  is  the  appeal  of  Chicago 
so  much  more  personal  than  that  of  other  cities 
we  have  come  through,  so  that  even  we  are  feeling 
quite  low-spirited  because  tomorrow  we  leave  for 
good!  To  be  sure,  the  Blackstone  is  a  beautiful 
and  luxurious  hotel,  and  we  are  not  likely  to  meet 
its  double  again  between  here  and  the  Pacific 
Coast,  but  it  is  not  that,  neither  is  it  that  we  have 
any  sentiment  for  the  city  or  those  that  dwell 
therein.  We  have  no  really  close  friends  here,  we 
have  met  only  a  few  people — in  fact,  we  are  ordi- 
nary tourists  merely  passing  through  a  strange 
city,  running  into  a  few  acquaintances  as  people 
are  sure  to  run  into  occasional  acquaintances  al- 
most everywhere. 

I  don't  think  I  can  explain  this  personal  and 
sudden  liking  that  I  feel  for  Chicago.  Once  in  a 
very  great  while  one  meets  a  rare  person  whom 
one  likes  and  trusts  at  first  sight,  and  about  whom 
one  feels  that  to  know  him  better  would  be  to  love 
him  much. 

To  me  Chicago  is  like  that. 

I  don't  suppose  a  New  Yorker  ever  wants  to 

live  anywhere  else,  but  if  sentence  should  be 

passed  on  me  that  I  had  to  spend  the  rest  of  my 

life  in  Chicago  I  doubt  if  I  would  find  the  punish- 

58 


A  FEW  CHICAGOANS 

ment  severe.  There  is  something  big,  wholesome, 
and  vitalizing  out  here.  It  is  just  the  sort  of  place 
where  one  would  choose  to  bring  up  one's  children, 
the  ideal  soil  and  sun  and  climate  for  young 
Americans  to  grow  in.  New  York  is  a  great  exotic 
hothouse  in  which  orchids  thrive ;  but  the  question 
is  this :  in  selecting  a  young  plant  for  the  garden 
of  the  world,  is  an  orchid  the  best  plant  to  choose? 


CHAPTEE  IX 

TINS 

IF  E.  M.  were  put  in  charge  of  the  commissary 
department  we  would  be  given  hardtack  and 
water — his  suggestions  as  to  food  never  go 
any  further.  I,  on  the  other  hand,  feel  impelled 
toward  chocolate  in  the  way  a  drunkard  is  im- 
pelled toward  rum,  and  if  the  supplies  were  left 
to  me  I  should  fill  every  thermos  with  chocolate 
ice-cream  soda  water  and  the  sandwich  boxes  with 
chocolate  cake.  But  Celia,  having  little  opinion 
of  hardtack  and  still  less  of  chocolate,  which  she 
declared  was  making  me  as  fat  as  butter,  suddenly 
took  the  matter  of  food  supplies  into  her  own 
hands.  Although  she  acknowledged  that  she  had 
invited  herself  upon  the  expedition  in  the  first 
place,  and  that  she  had  agreed  to  sit  under  the 
luggage  in  the  back,  she  protested  that  a  heavy 
hamper  full  of  silver  and  crockery  and  nothing 
to  eat  in  it  was  an  inhumanly  heavy  weight  to 
put  her  up  against,  and  she  would  like  to  arrange 
things  differently. 

Of  course  we  told  her  that  if  she  felt  like  rising 

above  her  surroundings  it  was  not  for  us  to  hold 

her  down.    So  without  any  more  ado  she  shipped 

the  beautiful  lunch  basket  home  by  freight  and 

60 


TINS 

dragged  me  out  with  her  to  buy  a  more  practical 
substitute.  Her  first  purchase  was  a  large,  white, 
tin  breadbox — just  an  ordinary  box  with  a  pad- 
lock, neither  lining  nor  fixtures. 

1  'What  for?"  I  asked. 

"To  put  things  in,"  said  she.  "It  is  going  to 
be  padlocked  and  it  is  going  to  stand  flat  on  the 
floor  of  the  tonneau  and  stay  there,  and  not  tum- 
ble over  on  me!  Also  we  won't  have  to  have  it 
lugged  up  to  our  room  at  night  or  carted  down 
in  the  morning." 

'  *  Excellent ! "  I  agreed  enthusiastically.  ' '  Let 's 
have  paper  plates  and  five-cents-a-dozen  spoons 
and  throw  them  away  and  not  have  to  fuss  with 
anything  to  be  washed." 

At  a  ten-cent  store  we  bought  only  three  knives, 
but  dozens  of  plates  and  spoons  and  enough  oiled 
paper  to  wrap  sandwiches  for  an  expedition. 
Then  we  went  to  a  beautiful  grocery  store  near  the 
hotel  and  laid  in  a  supply  of  everything  imag- 
inable that  comes  in  china,  glass,  or  tin !  Chicken, 
ham,  tongue,  pheasant  in  tubes  like  tooth  paste, 
pate  de  foie  gras  in  china,  big  pieces  of  chicken  in 
glass,  nuts,  jam,  marmalade,  and  honey. 

One  article  of  food  that  we  had  tried  to  find 
ever  since  leaving  New  York  was  still  unobtain- 
able. Neither  brittle  bread  nor  protopuffs  had 
ever  been  heard  of  west  of  New  York,  and  our  Chi- 
cago grocer  looked  as  blank  as  the  rest.  Either 
New  York  women  are  the  only  ones  who  worry 
about  keeping  their  figures  or  else  the  women  of 
61 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

other  cities  stay  slim  naturally!  Nothing  but 
good,  rich  fat-producing  bread  and  butter  to  be 
had,  to  say  nothing  of  chocolate  1  And  our  waist- 
bands getting  tighter  every  day !  Not  E.  M. — he 
being  very  young  is  as  lathlike  as  ever. 

Having  bought  everything  else,  we  repeated  our 
question,  was  he  sure  he  had  no  gluten  or  Swedish 
bread,  no  dry,  flourless  bread  of  any  kind!  No, 
he  had  only  hardtack,  and  then  produced — round 
packages  of  brittle  bread ! 

Wonderful!  We  were  so  delighted  we  fairly 
floundered  in  it.  " Bring  us  more;  we  are  going 
to  cross  the  continent;  we  must  have  lots  of  it  I"  I 
said  greedily.  Then  we  hurried  home  and  waited 
for  our  supplies  to  arrive. 

First  came  a  big  basket,  bulging.  Had  we 
really  bought  all  that  ?  But  it  was  only  the  begin- 
ning. Bread,  bread,  and  more  bread !  Bales  of  it ! 
It  was  I  who  had  ordered  "lots  of  it."  Celia 
looked  sorry  for  me. 

"It  looks  like  rain!  We  could  shelter  the  car 
under  it,"  was  all  I,  idiotically,  could  think  of. 
And  in  my  absent-mindedness  I  broke  open  one 
of  the  bales.  It  was  certainly  Swedish  bread,  the 
nicest,  crispest  imaginable,  and  then  I  took  a  bite. 
Caraway  seeds! 

In  our  family  some  ancestor  must  have  been 
done  to  death  on  caraway  seeds.  The  strongest 
of  us  becomes  a  queer  green  at  even  so  much  as  a 
whiff  of  one.  Celia  ran  out  into  the  hall  as  though 
I  had  exclaimed  "Snakes!"  And  I,  like  the  one 
62 


TINS 

who  had  just  been  bitten,  followed  unstably  after 
her. 

"Is  there  a  bat  in  your  room?"  asked  the  floor 
clerk,  sympathetically. 

"N-o, — car-a-way  s-seeds,"  said  Celia,  all  in  a 
tremble. 

'  *  We  none  of  us  can  bear  them — and  they  are  in 
the  bread,"  I  explained. 

''Caraway  seeds?"  exclaimed  the  bewildered 
floor  clerk.  "Oh,  but  I  like  caraway  seeds  very 
much!" 

' '  Do  you  ? "  we  gasped.  ' '  Well,  then  if  you  will 
send  a  staff  of  porters  into  Room  2002,  you  can 
have  enough  to  last  all  your  life  i  You  can  stack 
a  whole  mountain  of  it  around  your  desk  and  eat 
your  way  out. ' ' 

It  rained  all  last  night  and  drizzled  off  and  on 
all  morning.  As  everyone  has  warned  us  against 
muddy  roads  west  of  Chicago,  we  sat  with  our 
faces  pressed  to  the  windows  overlooking  the 
Lake,  feeling  alternately  hopeful  and  downcast 
and  asking  each  other  questions  in  circles.  Might 
we  try  to  get  on?  Had  we  perhaps  better  unpack 
and  stay?  Twice  the  sun  struggled  out  and  we 
sent  down  for  the  porters  to  come  for  our  luggage, 
but  both  times  when  they  arrived  it  had  begun  to 
rain  and  we  sent  them  away  again.  By  twelve 
o  'clock,  having  finally  decided  to  stay  over  a  day, 
E.  M.  went  to  the  Saddle  and  Cycle  Club  to  lunch 
with  some  friends.  Celia  and  I  were  about  to  go 
63 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

down  to  the  restaurant  for  our  own  luncheon  when 
the  breadbox  caught  her  attention.  I  saw  her  lift 
the  cover  and  look  wistfully  at  the  two  neatly  tied 
white  paper  packages  and  three  brightly  shining 
thermos  jars  that  were  on  top.  Expecting  to  start 
early  in  the  morning  we  had  the  night  before 
ordered  a  luncheon  put  up.  And  now  what  were 
we  to  do  with  the  food  ? 

"It  was  so  expensive!"  she  said  wistfully. 
"The  pate  sandwiches  were  sixty  cents  apiece  and 
they  will  be  horrid  and  dry  tomorrow ! ' ' 

"And  the  lobster  salad  was  a  dollar  and  a 
half — and  that  certainly  won't  keep!" 

"And  we  don't  even  know  whether  it  is  good  or 
not ! ' '  she  almost  wailed,  but  quite  as  quickly  she 
exclaimed  happily:  "Let's  picnic  here!" 

"Here?"  I  said  vaguely,  looking  about  at  the 
rose  silk  hangings  and  the  velvet  carpet. 

"Why  not?  It  is  ever  so  much  more  comfort- 
able here  than  it  would  have  been  out  on  a  dusty 
roadside.  Besides,  we  really  ought  to  see  how 
our  commissary  department  works.  "We  ought  to 
be  sure  that  we  haven't  any  more  caraway 
seeds!"  she  shivered. 

A  few  minutes  later  we  had  spread  our  picnic 
on  the  floor  and  were  having  a  perfect  time.  Also 
while  we  were  about  it  we  thought  we  had  better 
sample  the  various  things  we  had  bought  the  day 
before. 

"There  is  no  use,"  said  the  food  expert,  "in 
carting  about  a  lot  of  stuff  that  we  don't  like!" 
64 


TINS 

So  we  opened  and  tasted  a  tin  of  this  and  a  jar 
of  that  until  we  were  surrounded  with  what  looked 
like  the  discards  of  a  canning  factory.  Suppose 
our  New  York  friends  who  had  exclaimed  at  our 
going  without  any  servants  could  see  us  now ! 

I  was  jabbing  a  hole  in  a  can  of  condensed  milk 
with  a  silver  and  tortoise-shell  nail  file  when  some- 
one knocked  at  the  door.  Without  a  thought  of 
the  picture  we  were  presenting  to  the  probable 
chambermaid,  I  called,  "Come  in!"  but  was  too 
busy  to  look  up  until  I  heard  a  sort  of  gasp  and 
a  man's  voice  stammered: 

"I  only  came  to  see — to  see  if  Mrs.  Post — if 
there  was  anything  I  could  do  to — serve " 

"Miller!"  It  was  the  head  waiter  of  one  of 
the  dining-rooms  downstairs — a  man  who  had  for 
several  years  been  a  second  head  waiter  in  a  cele- 
brated New  York  hotel  and  who  had  once  been  a 
butler  for  a  member  of  our  family.  The  expres- 
sion on  his  face  was  one  of  such  surprise,  bewil- 
derment, apology,  shame  and  humility  that  I 
found  myself  explaining: 

' '  We  were  to  have  picnicked  along  the  road,  but 

it  rained.  And  so  we  have  picnicked !  It  is 

very  simple!" 

"Yes,  madam,"  he  agreed,  stoically.  But  it 
was  not  until  I  had  assured  him  that  we  never 
picnicked  more  than  once  a  day  indoors  and  had 
given  him  permission  to  order  our  dinner  at 
what  time  and  wherever  he  pleased,  and  most  par- 
ticularly after  I  refused  to  allow  him  to  send  a 
65 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

waiter  to  put  the  room  in  order  and  be  a  wit- 
ness to  the  family's  eccentricities  that  he  became 
his  urbane,  impassible  self  once  more. 

Tonight  I  suppose  we  will  have  to  deck  our- 
selves out  in  our  best  bibs  and  tuckers  and  sit 
through  a  conventionally  complete  dinner  at  the 
most  prominent  table  in  the  dining-room  so  that 
Miller  may  suffer  no  loss  to  his  proper  pride. 


CHAPTER  X 
MUD!! 

WE  have  struck  it! 
It  looks  pretty  much  as  though  our 
motor  trip  to  San  Francisco  were  going 
to  end  in  Eochelle,  Illinois. 

Thirty-six  miles  out  of  Chicago  we  met  the 
Lincoln  Highway  and  from  the  first  found  it  a 
disappointment.  As  the  most  important,  adver- 
tised and  lauded  road  in  our  country,  its  first  ap- 
pearance was  not  engaging.  If  it  were  called  the 
cross  continent  trail  you  would  expect  little,  and 
be  philosophical  about  less,  but  the  very  word 
"highway"  suggests  macadam  at  the  least.  And 
with  such  titles  as  "Transcontinental"  and  "Lin- 
coln" put  before  it,  you  dream  of  a  wide  straight 
road  like  the  Route  Nationale  of  France,  or  state 
roads  in  the  East,  and  you  wake  rather  unhappily 
to  the  actuality  of  a  meandering  dirt  road  that 
becomes  mud  half  a  foot  deep  after  a  day  or  two 
of  rain! 

Still  we  went  over  it  easily  enough  until  we 
passed  De  Kalb.1  After  that  the  only  "highway" 
attributes  left  were  the  painted  red,  white  and 
blue  signs  decorating  the  telegraph  poles  along 

1  See  Map  No.  8,  page  292. 

67 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

the  way.  The  highway  itself  disappeared  into  a 
wallow  of  mud!  The  center  of  the  road  was 
slightly  turtle-backed;  the  sides  were  of  thick, 
black  ooze  and  ungaugeably  deep,  and  the  car  was 
possessed,  as  though  it  were  alive,  to  pivot  around 
and  slide  backward  into  it.  We  had  no  chains  with 
us,  and  had  passed  no  places  where  we  could  get 
any.  Apart  from  the  difficulty  of  keeping  going 
on  chainless  tires  our  only  danger,  except  that  of 
being  bogged,  was  in  getting  over  the  bridges  that 
had  no  railings  to  their  approaches.  The  car 
chassed  up  every  one,  swung  over  toward  the 
embankment,  slewed  back  on  the  bridge,  went 
across  that  steadily,  and  dove  into  the  mud  again ! 
It  certainly  was  dampening  to  one's  ardor  for 
motoring.  If  the  Lincoln  Highway  was  like  this 
what  would  the  ordinary  road  be  after  it  branched 
away  at  Sterling? 

A  little  car  on  ahead  was  slithering  and  sliding 
around  too,  although  it  had  four  chains  on  it,  but 
it  did  not  sink  in  very  far  and  it  was  getting-along 
much  better  than  we  were — so  much  better  in 
fact,  that  at  the  end  of  a  few  miles  it  slowly 
wobbled  beyond  our  sight. 

Finally  we  turned  a  bend  and  there  was  a  little 
car  on  ahead.  Not  the  same  one  however.  This 
one  evidently  had  no  chains  and  was  coming  to- 
ward us  drunkenly  staggering  from  side  to  side. 
Gradually  the  lower  half  of  it  was  hidden  by  the 
incline  of  an  intervening  bridge,  then  suddenly  it 
disappeared  altogether.  When  we  arrived  at 
68 


MUD!! 

the  bridge  ourselves  we  saw  the  car  in  a  deep  ditch 
almost  over  on  its  side.  The  occupants  of  it,  a 
man  and  a  small  boy,  were  both  out  and  nothing, 
apparently,  was  hurt.  The  small  boy  was  having 
a  heavenly  time  paddling  around  in  mud  way 
above  his  knees,  and  the  man  called  up  to  us  cheer- 
fully: 

1  i  'Twas  m'own  fault ;  I  hadn't  ought  to  'a'  come 
without  chains  on !  No  use  for  you  to  stop,  thank 
you!  You  couldn't  help  any  and  we'd  only  block 
th*  road  between  us.  A  team '11  be  along  before 
long!" 

Regretfully  we  left  them  and  slipped  and  slid 
and  staggered  on  for  some  miles  more. 

' '  Oh, ' '  said  Celia  in  the  back,  * '  how  are  we  ever 
going  up  that?"  "That"  was  an  awful  embank- 
ment ahead  which  to  look  at  made  me  feel  as  if 
I  had  eaten  nothing  for  a  week.  It  was  steep, 
narrow,  turtle-backed,  with  black  slime,  and  had 
a  terrifying  drop  at  either  side  of  its  treacherous 
and  unguarded  edges.  The  car  went  snorting  up 
the  incline  until,  nearly  at  the  top  point  where  the 
drop  was  steepest,  it  balked  and  slid  toward  the 
edge ! 

' '  This  is  the  end, ' '  I  thought,  wondering  in  the 
same  second  if  any  of  us  would  fall  clear.  For 
one  of  those  eternity-laden  moments  we  seemed 
to  hang  poised  on  the  brink.  Then  E.  M.  seemed 
almost  to  lift  the  huge  weight  of  the  machine 
around  bodily  and  compel  it  in  spite  of  its  help- 
lessness to  crawl  up,  up,  up  on  the  bridge. 
69 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

Glancing  back  at  Celia,  after  we  were  safely 
over,  she  looked  about  as  chalky  and  weak-kneed 
as  I  felt.  A  short  distance  further,  however,  we 
ran  on  the  brick  pavement  of  a  town.  The  ragged 
red-brick  buildings  of  the  street  we  turned  into 
were  not  very  encouraging  and  we  feared  that 
again  the  Blue  Book's  hotel  description  might  be 
one  of  those  "complimentary"  ones,  consisting 
of  its  paid  advertisement.  E.  M.  urged  our  try- 
ing to  get  chains  and  going  on  to  Davenport,  but 
Celia  and  I  had  all  the  motoring  in  the  mud  that 
we  cared  about.  No  matter  how  squalid  the  town, 
or  how  poor  the  accommodations,  we  meant  to 
cross  no  more  bridges  like  that  last  one  until  the 
roads  dried!  Then  we  made  two  turns  like  a 
letter  Z  and  found  ourselves  in  the  sweetest, 
cleanest,  newest  little  town  imaginable.  Its 
streets  were  all  wide  and  smoothly  paved  with 
brick,  and  its  houses,  mostly  white,  were  set  each 
in  a  garden  of  trim  and  clipped  green.  There  was 
a  new  post-office  of  marble  magnificence  and  a 
shopping  center  of  big-windowed,  fresh-painted, 
enterprising  stores,  but  no  hotel  except  a  dingy 
ramshackle  tavern  that  we  took  for  granted  was 
the  one  mentioned  in  the  guide  book.  We  won- 
dered if  one  of  the  neat,  sweet  little  houses  might 
perhaps  take  us  to  board  instead. 

In  front  of  a  garage  was  a  man  with  a  blue 

coat  and  brass  buttons,  and  "Fire  Chief"  on 

them.    We  asked  him  if  he  knew  anyone  at  whose 

house  we  could  stay  until  the  road  dried.     He 

70 


MUD!! 

looked  at  us  and  then  at  the  car  in  a  quizzical 
sort  of  way. 

"Oh,  y-es,"  he  drawled.  "You  could  put  up 
at  Mrs.  Blake's,  I  guess." 

We  asked  the  way  to  Mrs.  Blake's  and  then 
happened  to  remark  that  it  was  curious  a  town 
as  up-to-date  as  this  one  had  no  good  hotel.  He 
lost  his  drawl  immediately:  "No  good  hotel? 
Well,  I  just  guess  there  is  a  good  hotel!  The 
Collier  Inn  is  just  across  that  street  and  around 
the  corner.  It's  a  fine  hotel." 

We  cheered  up  instantly.  But  why  hadn't  he 
told  us  that  sooner?  He  thought  that  "consid- 
erin'  we  had  asked  for  a  boarding-house,  mebbe 
th'  hotel  it  was  too  high-priced  for  us,  but  it  was 
a  fine  hotel  if  we  didn't  mind  the  cost." 

I  don't  know  how  we  had  missed  it.  It  was  a 
fair-sized  yellow  brick  building  on  a  corner,  a 
rather  typical  small-town  commercial  hotel.  I 
went  in  expecting  dingy  darkness.  The  lobby 
looked  like  the  office  in  a  Maine  summer  resort. 
I  asked — not  that  I  for  a  moment  expected  to  get 
it — for  rooms  with  baths.  The  proprietor  said, 
"Certainly,"  and  showed  me  three  new  little 
rooms,  each  with  a  little  new  bathroom  attached. 

I  returned  to  my  companions  grinning  like  a 
Cheshire  cat.  It  seemed  to  us  as  though  we  had 
found  a  veritable  Eitz ! 


CHAPTER  XI 
IN  EOCHELLE 

f  |  ^WENTY-FOUR  hours  in  a  town  like  this 
and  we  feel  as  though  we  knew  it  and  the 
people  intimately.  In  many  ways  it  sug- 
gests a  toy-land  town.  Its  streets  are  so  straight 
and  evenly  laid,  its  houses  so  white  and  shining, 
its  gardens  so  green,  its  shops  so  freshly  painted, 
its  displays  in  the  windows  so  new,  and  its  people 
so  friendly. 

' '  Strangers  in  town ! ' '  they  seem  to  say  to  them- 
selves as  they  look  at  us,  but  instead  of  looking 
at  us  in  a  "wait  until  we  know  who  you  are  be- 
fore we  take  any  notice  of  you,"  they  seem  quite 
ready  to  smile  and  begin  a  conversation. 

Our  most  particular  friend,  as  well  as  our 
oldest  acquaintance,  is  the  fire  chief.  E.  M.  has, 
of  course,  one  or  two  other  particular  friends  in 
the  garage.  If  he  can  only  find  a  mechanic  or  two 
to  talk  to,  he  is  perfectly  happy.  Celia's  and  my 
chief  diversion  has  been  going  to  the  moving  pic- 
ture theaters,  which  is  evidently  the  fashionable 
thing  to  do  here.  In  the  evening  we  saw  three 
real  theater  parties.  One  of  them  was  a  very 
important  affair ;  they  met  in  the  lobby  and  went 
down  the  aisle  two  by  two ;  the  ladies  all  had  many 
72 


IN  ROCHELLE 

diamonds,  brand-new  white-kid  gloves  quite  tight, 
picture  hats,  corsage  bouquets  and  boxes  of 
candy. 

Celia  and  I  had  neither  gloves  nor  hats  on,  and 
when  we  ran  into  the  theater  parties,  we  felt  al- 
most like  urchins  that  had  been  caught  wander- 
ing into  the  foyer  of  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House.  Like  our  hatred  of  caraway  seeds,  our 
love  of  hatlessness  must  be  a  family  failing.  In 
Chicago  two  different  papers  took  the  trouble  to 
mention  E.  M.'s  carelessness  in  the  matter  of 
head-covering.  "Scorning  to  wear  a  hat  even  on 
occasions  when  it  is  generally  considered  to  be 
convenable,"  said  one.  The  other  described  him 
as  "such  a  disciple  of  fresh  air  that  he  was  seen 
driving  a  big  racing  machine  on  Michigan  Avenue 
without  a  hat!"  Yet  isn't  it  a  popular  suppo- 
sition that  the  West  is  freer  from  conventions 
than  the  East! 

The  rain  has  finally  stopped  and  this  morning 
the  sun  is  trying  hard  to  shine.  To  do  much 
good  it  will  have  to  shine  steadily  for  about  three 
days.  We  walked  to  the  end  of  the  brick  paving 
down  one  of  the  streets  a  little  while  ago  and 
looked  at  the  black  wet  Lincoln  Highway  leading 
to  Sterling. 

On  our  way  back  we  met  our  friend  the  fire 
chief. 

"Been  to  look  at  the  mud?"  asked  he,  cheer- 
fully. "It  isn't  a  bit  bad  now.  You  ought  to 
see  it  when  it's  muddy!  Why,  it  took  me  eight 
73 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

hours  to  go  twenty-one  miles  I  I  did  have  to  get 
a  team  of  horses  to  pull  me  out  of  one  bog,  but 
otherwise  I  got  through  all  right." 

" Didn't  you  strain  your  engine?"  I  asked  him. 
"Oh,  yes,"  he  said  cheerfully;  "I  guess  I  did,  but 
I  couldn't  help  that." 

"Well,  maybe  you  couldn't,"  I  agreed,  then 
added  with  confidential  finality,  "but  I  tell  you 
what  we  're  going  to  do !  We  're  going  to  put  ours 
on  a  nice,  dry,  comfortable  freight  car  tomorrow 
morning  and  ship  it  past  the  mud  district — which 
is  probably  the  width  of  the  continent." 

His  warmth  of  manner  fell  suddenly  to  zero. 
I  feared  we  had  in  some  way  offended  him  because 
we  thought  his  state  muddy.  "Of  course  it  is  a 
lovely  country  to  grow  things  in, "  I  added  quickly, 
"but  you  see  we  want  particularly  to  get  to  San 
Francisco,  and  the  surest  way  is  by  freight." 

But  we  could  not  put  the  broken  conversation 
together  again.  In  fact,  our  friend  the  fire  chief 
doesn't  smile  any  more.  Our  other  friends,  the 
garage  men,  also  look  at  us  askance — in  fact  in 
some  way  we  seem  to  have  lost  our  popularity. 


CHAPTER 

THE  WEIGHT  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION 

WE  know  now  what  is  the  matter!  They 
think  we  are  quitters!  They  are  so 
filled  with  a  sense  of  shame  for  us  that 
we  are  beginning  to  feel  it  ourselves.  In  spite 
of  our  original  intention  to  go  only  so  far  as 
roads  were  good  and  accommodations  were  com- 
fortable, we  feel  that  we  are  somehow  lacking 
in  mettle,  that  we  are  sandless,  to  say  the 
least! 

To  explain  that  we  are  not  crossing  the  con- 
tinent as  a  feat  of  endurance  is  useless;  having 
started  to  motor  to  the  West,  our  stopping  this 
side  of  the  place  we  set  out  for  is  to  them  incom- 
prehensible. 

"Why,  that  car  ought  to  go  through  anything!" 
is  all  any  of  them  can  think  of  saying  to  us. 

Our  friend  the  fire  chief  stood  glowering  out 
in  front  of  the  garage  all  morning.  I  think  he 
would  have  gone  to  great  lengths  to  prevent  our 
machine's  incarceration  in  a  freight  car.  The 
proprietor  of  the  garage  gave  us  his  opinion :  ' '  Of 
course  we  drive  pretty  light  machines  around 
here,  and  yours  is  heavy  and  your  wheels  are  un- 
common narrow,  but  that  engine  of  yours  sure 
75 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

ain't  no  toy!  I'd  go  through  if  I  was  you!  I 
wouldn't  quit  for  a  little  mud!  No,  sir!" 

"And  only  a  little  mud  at  that!"  scornfully 
echoed  the  fire  chief. 

"And  supposing  we  slide  off  one  of  those 
bridges,  or  turn  turtle  in  a  ditch?"  asked  we. 

The  chief  scratched  his  head,  but  his  determina- 
tion was  undaunted.  "She'd  be  kind  of  heavy  to 
fall  on  you,"  he  grinned.  "All  the  same,  if  that 
car  was  mine,  I'd  go  right  on  plumb  across  Hell 
itself,  I  would!" 

To  finish  what  you  have  begun,  to  see  it  through 
at  whatever  cost,  that  seems  to  be  the  spirit  here ; 
it  is  probably  the  spirit  of  the  West,  the  spirit 
that  has  doubled  and  trebled  these  towns  in  a 
few  years.  The  consideration  as  to  whether  it 
is  the  wisest  and  most  expedient  thing  to  do,  has 
no  part  in  their  process  of  reasoning.  That  is 
exactly  the  point. 

Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die. 

Only  they  do  not  seem  to  die.  They  thrive 
gloriously. 

All  the  same,  if  this  country  of  ours  ever  gets 
into  the  war  there  will  be  the  making  of  a  second 
Balaklava  regiment  in  a  town  of  Illinois  beginning 
with  an  B  and  a  certain  fire  chief  should  make  a 
gallant  captain. 

But  magnificent  as  is  their  indomitability  as  a 
76 


THE  WEIGHT  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION 

quality  of  character ;  for  us,  for  instance,  to  wreck 
a  valuable  car,  which  we  might  never  afford  to  re- 
place, for  the  sake  of  saying  that  we  were  not 
stopped  by  any  such  trifle  as  mud  seems  more 
foolhardy  than  courageous.  Nevertheless,  they 
have  in  some  way  imbued  us  with  their  spirit  to 
such  a  degree  that  we  have  countermanded  the 
freight  car,  and  although  the  mud  is  not  a  bit 
better,  have  put  chains  on  and  are  going  to  start. 

Enthusiasm  was  no  name  for  it!  The  town 
turned  out  to  see  us  off;  the  fire  chief  drove  out 
his  engine  in  all  its  brass  and  scarlet  resplendency. 
The  ban  of  our  cowardly  leanings  toward  freight 
cars  was  lifted  and  they  saw  us  off  on  our  muddy 
way  rejoicing ! 

We  are  glad  to  have  seen  this  little  town.  May- 
be the  contagion  of  its  enthusiasm  will  remain 
with  us  permanently. 

The  mud,  by  the  way,  lasted  only  ten  miles. 
The  celebrated  Lincoln  Highway  parted  from  us 
at  Sterling  and  as  soon  as  we  left  it,  the  ordinary, 
unadvertised  River  to  River  road  that  we  had 
dreaded  was  splendid  all  the  rest  of  the  way  to 
this  beautiful  hotel,  the  Black  Hawk,  in  Daven- 
port, Iowa. 

I  was  in  a  perfect  flutter  of  excitement  about 
crossing  the  Mississippi  though  I  have  scarcely 
the  courage  to  tell  the  unbelievably  idiotic  reason 
why!  It  was  Mrs.  Z.,  who  had  crossed  the  con- 
tinent an  uncountable  number  of  times,  who  told 
77 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

me  in  all  seriousness  that  the  middle  of  the  United 
States  was  cut  unbridgeably  in  two  by  the  Mis- 
sissippi! Nothing  spanned  this  divide  except  a 
railroad  bridge,  and  the  only  way  motorists  had 
ever  crossed  was  on  the  trestles  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  against  the  law  and  at  the  risk  of 
their  lives!  The  bridges,  needless  to  say,  are 
many  and  quite  as  crossable  as  Manhattan  to 
Brooklyn.  The  river  itself  is  yellow  as  the  Tiber, 
but  its  banks,  devoid  of  factories  and  refuse  col- 
lections, were  enchantingly  lovely,  sloping  and 
vividly  green;  a  little  like  the  upper  Hudson,  or 
still  more,  Queenstown  Harbor  in  Ireland. 

Davenport  is  evidently  a  gay  resort.  A  friendly 
elevator  boy  detained  E.  M.  and  whispered: 
"Say,  mister,  there's  a  cabberay  going  on  tonight 
on  the  island.  They'll  be  vaudeville,  tangoing 
and  a  band!"  He  must  have  put  E.  M.'s  lack  of 
enthusiasm  at  our  door,  for  he  added:  "The  fun 
doesn't  start  until  late.  You  could  easy  take 
them,"  pointing  toward  us,  "to  a  movie  first. 
The  Princess  is  high  class  and  refined.  You  take 
it  from  me  and  fix  it  to  stay  for  a  while.  You'll 
find  we're  some  lively  town!" 


CHAPTER  XHI 

MUDDIER! 

THE  morning  looked  gray  but  having  gone 
easily  enough  the  day  before  with  chains 
on,  we  no  longer  worried  about  a  little  rain. 
Nevertheless,  we  left  our  beautiful  rooms  at  the 
Black  Hawk  in  Davenport,  Iowa,  the  best  accom- 
modations at  the  most  reasonable  rates  that  we 
have  yet  had,  with  a  regret  that  has  since  been 
doubly  intensified. 

For  seventy-five  miles  beyond  Davenport  the 
road  was  excellent;  not  macadam,  but  a  wide 
dustless  surface  of  natural  clay.  The  country 
was  very  much  like  that  in  southern  New  York  and 
eastern  New  Jersey — a  rolling  picturesque  land- 
scape of  green  fields,  beautiful  trees  and  streams. 
As  there  were  black  clouds  gradually  coming  up 
behind  us,  and  we  had  as  usual  forgotten  to  bring 
any  food  except  our  tinned  collection,  it  seemed 
wiser  when  we  got  to  Iowa  City  to  buy  some  sand- 
wiches rather  than  stop  at  the  Hotel  Jefferson, 
and  give  the  black  clouds  a  chance  to  catch  up. 
At  an  eating-place  that  had  a  sign  on  it :  ' '  Every 
Sort  of  Sandwiches  Beady,"  a  gum-chewing  youth 
leaning  against  the  shelves  behind  the  counter 
pushed  a  greasy  bill  of  fare  toward  me.  From  a 
79 


j  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 


list  of  chicken,  ham,  tongue,  and  cheese  sand- 
wiches, I  ordered  three  chicken  —  we  could  not 
do  with  less  and  I  doubted  if  we'd  care  for  more. 
They  hadn  't  any  chicken  !  '  '  Ham,  then  !  '  '  There 
wasn  't  any  ham  !  '  '  Tongue  I  '  '  The  youth  thought 
if  we  weren't  in  a  hurry  he  might  be  able  to  get 
some  canned  tongue  at  the  grocer's  down  the 
street;  the  only  sandwiches  he  had  ready  were 
of  cheese  laid  between  huge  hunks  of  bread  and 
each  garnished  with  a  radish  skewered  on  the 
top  with  a  toothpick  ! 

Celia  meanwhile  by  chance  discovered  an  apart- 
ment called  "Woman's  Best  Boom"  where  she 
got  some  delicious  homemade  coffee-cake  and 
rolls.  Those  with  our  own  potted  meats  or  jams 
were,  of  course,  all  anyone  could  ask.  That  is 
always  the  difficulty  —  a  stranger  in  town  has  no 
idea  where  to  go  for  anything. 

From  a  point  about  ten  miles  beyond  Iowa  City, 
the  story  of  that  dreadful  day  ought  to  be  written 
in  indigo  of  the  darkest  shade.  It  was  such  an 
experience  as  to  dampen  your  enthusiasm  as  an 
adventuring  motorist  forever  ;  but  that  leaves  you 
at  least  a  great  appreciation  of  Pullman  trains, 
or  even  old-fashioned  stage  coaches  —  any  means 
of  conveyance  that  can  keep  going,  right  end  first. 

Our  delay  in  foraging  had  given  the  black  clouds 
time  to  gain  on  us.  But  after  observing  them 
uneasily  for  a  mile  or  two,  we  felt  confident  that 
we  were  keeping  ahead  of  them,  until  about  ten 
miles  further,  at  which  point  we  had  a  puncture 
80 


MUDDIER! 

— our  very  first — and  the  rain  caught  us.  We 
debated  whether  we  had  better  go  back  to  Iowa 
City  or  whether  we  should  try  to  run  one  hundred 
and  thirty  miles  in  the  rain  to  Des  Moines. 

E.  M.  was  not  at  all  enthusiastic  about  going 
on.  In  fact  he  had  not  wanted  to  leave  Davenport. 
As  he  is  certainly  not  apt  to  care  about  weather 
we  ought  to  have  paid  exceptional  attention  to 
his  dubiousness.  But  he  only  said  something 
about  a  strain  on  his  engine,  to  which  I  paid  no 
great  attention — as  I  feel  perfectly  confident  that 
no  matter  what  happens,  he  is  not  going  to  let 
that  engine  get  hurt  very  much  if  it  is  in  his 
power  to  prevent  it.  The  engine  is  to  him  what 
Chicago  is  to  the  Chicagoans,  the  very  child  of 
his  heart;  its  every  little  piece  of  steel  or  alumi- 
num as  personally  precious  to  him  as  a  baby's 
tooth  or  curl  is  to  its  doting  parent.  We  can  all 
be  tired  and  hungry,  wet  or  cold,  or  broiling  and 
thirsty,  it  means  nothing  to  him  so  long  as  that 
engine  is  comfortably  purring  under  its  bonnet. 
But  the  slightest  complaint  on  its  part,  its  faint- 
est squeak  or  grumble,  the  smallest  thing  that 
he  feels  may  disagree  with  it,  and  he  is  unspeak- 
ably miserable. 

However,  the  rain  seemed  to  be  only  a  drizzle 
and  the  roads  looked  so  hard  and  splendid,  we  con- 
cluded it  would  surely  take  many  hours  of  down- 
pour to  get  them  in  a  bad  condition — if  in  fact 
they  were  likely  to  be  much  affected  at  all.  So 
although  as  a  precaution  E.  M.  put  on  chains,  we 
81 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

went  on  in  tranquil  ignorance  of  the  Nemesis  that 
lurked  in  waiting. 

As  an  illustration  of  what  rain  in  Iowa  can  do, 
twenty-five  minutes  of  drizzle  turned  the  smooth, 
hard  surface  of  the  road  into  the  consistency  of 
gruel.  Not  only  that,  but  as  though  it  were  made 
in  layers,  and  the  top  layer  slid  off  the  under 
layers  and  the  under  layers  slipped  out  between, 
or  the  reverse.  Our  wheels,  even  with  chains  on, 
had  no  more  hold  than  revolving  cakes  of  soap 
might  have  on  slanting  wet  marble.  The  car  not 
only  zigzagged  sideways,  backwards,  every  way 
but  forward,  unless  some  unexpected  obstacle  or 
pitfall  loomed  or  yawned  in  our  path,  in  which 
case  it  was  seized  with  an  impetuous  desire  to 
plunge  to  destruction.  We  saw  two  unfortunate 
automobiles  already  landed  in  the  ditch.  One, 
luckily,  was  being  hauled  out  by  a  team,  but  the 
second  was  on  a  lonely  stretch  of  road,  and  em- 
bedded far  above  the  hubs.  Its  occupants  peered 
out  at  us  sympathetically,  as  they  saw  we  were 
utterly  powerless  to  help.  We  were  just  balanc- 
ing this  way  and  that,  and  for  a  while  it  looked  as 
though  we  were  going  to  park  ourselves  beside 
them.  We  could  only  call  out  as  we  finally  slith- 
ered by,  that  we  would  send  back  a  team  from 
a  town  ahead — if  we  ever  got  to  one. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  of  this  swerving,  crawling 

misery,  we  had  a  second  puncture.     There  was 

a  barn  near  by,  and  the  farmer,  a  German,  let 

us  drive  in  and  change  the  tire  under  cover.    We 

82 


MUDDIER! 

asked  if  there  was  any  town  nearer  and  less  out 
of  our  course  than  Cedar  Eapids.  Or  would  he 
himself,  or  perhaps  one  of  his  neighbors,  take  us 
in?  No,  he  did  not  want  any  boarders  in  his 
house;  he  said  it  with  a  quite  surly  manner;  his 
neighbors  had  no  liking  for  strangers,  either. 
Cedar  Eapids  was  our  nearest  place. 

In  contrast  to  the  kindness  with  which  he  had 
motioned  us  to  come  into  his  barn  in  the  first 
place,  it  struck  us  that  he  was  on  closer  ac- 
quaintance, surprisingly  curt.  But  it  was  not 
until  afterwards,  in  the  light  of  later  experience, 
that  we  realized  his  manner  had  become  inten- 
tionally unfriendly. 

The  tire  changing  went  very  quickly,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  we  were  on  the  road  again.  Celia 
and  I  ate  our  luncheon,  but  E.  M.,  struggling  with 
the  zigzagging  car,  had  no  thought  for  food  and 
ate  only  a  mouthful  or  two  that  I  fed  him  as  he 
drove.  It  was  by  now  pouring  hard  and  we 
seemed  to  be  making  less  and  less  progress.  One 
thing,  we  now  quite  understood  what  our  friend 
the  fire  chief  meant  when  he  said  the  road  around 
Eochelle  was  only  a  little  muddy.  Without  hesi- 
tating a  moment  we  would  be  willing  to  swear 
that  the  mud  championship  of  the  world  belongs 
to  Iowa.  Illinois  mud  is  slippery  and  slyly  eager 
to  push  unstable  tourists  into  the  ditch,  but  in 
Iowa  it  lurks  in  unfathomable  treachery,  loath 
to  let  anything  ever  get  out  again  that  once  ven- 
tures into  it.  Our  progress  through  it  became 
83 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

hideously  like  that  of  a  fly  crawling  through  yellow 
flypaper — as  though  it  were  a  question  of  time 
how  soon  we  would  be  brought  to  an  exhausted 
end,  and  sink  into  it  forever! 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  more,  we  had  gone 
ten  miles.  Cedar  Eapids  was  still  nearly  twenty 
miles  away.  Twenty  miles!  Could  anyone  in  a 
lifetime  go  so  far  as  that?  Could  any  machine 
hold  out  so  endlessly?  In  another  hour  we  had 
gone  only  four  miles  further,  and  by  no  means 
sure  of  our  road,  and  then  came  a  third  puncture ! 
It  was  one  of  those  last  straws  that  seem  to  finish 
everything.  You  think  you  just  can't  live  through 
it  and  struggle  more.  Much  better  give  up  and  lie 
down  in  the  fly-paper  and  stay  there.  We  were 
at  the  top  of  a  fairly  steep  hill,  so  that  we  might 
perhaps  be  able  to  go  on  again,  but  to  see  E.  M., 
already  exhausted,  and  not  a  soul  to  help  him,  get 
out  again  into  that  drenching  rain — he  had  no 
raincoat  and  the  mud  was  over  his  shoetops — and 
we  had  started  on  the  trip  in  the  first  place  because 
he  had  been  ill — I  could  easily  have  burst  into 
tears.  Which  exhibition  of  courage  would  have 
helped  the  situation  such  a  lot ! 

Meanwhile  he  was  having  a  hopeless  time  try- 
ing to  jack  the  car  up.  There  was  no  foundation 
for  the  jack  to  stand  on,  so  that  it  merely  bur- 
rowed down  into  the  clay.  Some  men  lounged  out 
of  the  one  house  near  by.  They  were  Germans. 
All  the  inhabitants  seemed  to  be  German.  They 
approached  with  seeming  friendliness,  but  on 
84 


MUDDIER! 

closer  inspection  of  us,  their  demeanor  noticeably 
changed.  There  was  something  in  our  appear- 
ance they  did  not  like.  I  thought  possibly  they 
resented  our  car's  waltzing,  or  thought  that  E. 
M.'s  jack  was  harmfully  puncturing  the  surface 
of  their  beautiful  road.  Two  of  them  shrugged 
their  shoulders  and  all  of  them  looked  at  us  in 
impassive  silence  that  was  neither  friendly  nor 
polite.  Then  a  younger  man  appeared  who  came 
forward  as  though  to  offer  to  help,  but  stopping  to 
look  inquisitively  at  the  radiator  top,  he  too, 
grew  sullen.  And  then  we  understood !  The  em- 
blem of  the  Eoyal  Automobile  Club  of  London 
was  put  on  when  we  were  in  England  last  year; 
and  as  it  is  very  pretty,  we  happen  never  to  have 
taken  it  off,  and  the  men  were  Germans!  That's 
why  they  wouldn't  help  us.  We  had  asked  for  a 
piece  of  plank  that  one  of  them  was  holding;  the 
man  carried  it  away.  Finally,  when  that  dreadful 
tire  was  at  last  on,  they  would  not  even  tell  us 
the  way  until  I  asked  in  German.  Then  one  of 
them  laconically  pointed  it  out. 

Hot,  tired,  and  soaked  as  a  drowned  rat,  E.  M. 
for  three  and  a  half  hours  longer  guided  the 
steaming,  floundering  and  irresponsible  machine 
until  at  last  by  supreme  effort  he  got  us  to  Cedar 
Eapids. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
ONE  OP  THE  FOGGED  IMPRESSIONS 

SOMEWHERE  we  read  a  sign  "  Cedar  Rapids 
suits  me.    It  will  suit  you. ' '    Of  course  after 
those  last  six  hours  of  mud-wallowing  agony 
C-e-d-a-r  R-a-p-i-d-s  simply  spelled  Heaven.    But 
after  we  were  dry  and  warm  and  fed — such  is  the 
ingratitude  of  human  nature  and  tourists — we 
would  very  gladly  have  gone  away  again. 

I  do  not  like  thee,  Doctor  Fell, 
The  reason  why  I  can  not  tell 

explains  our  feelings  rather  perfectly.  We  were 
tired;  at  least  E.  M.  was  exhausted,  and  Celia  and 
I  were  tired  probably  in  sympathy.  Also  it  is 
always  disappointing  to  start  out  for  a  place  and 
not  be  able  to  get  there,  and  little  things  sometimes 
sum  up  a  feeling  of  depression  quite  out  of  pro- 
portion to  their  importance. 

We  went  over  bad  pavement,  and  came  to  some 
more  that  was  torn  up,  so  that  the  city  had  an 
upheaved  effect.  It  was  all  drenched  in  rain, 
and  the  little  we  saw  of  it  looked  ugly  and  brown, 
and  finally  our  rooms  were  completely  sapping  to 
joyfulness  of  spirit.  Perhaps  if  we  had  come 
from  a  hotel  less  attractive  than  the  Black  Hawk 
86 


ONE  OF  THE  FOGGED  IMPRESSIONS 

in  Davenport,  we  should  not  have  so  keenly  felt 
the  contrast,  but  the  rooms  we  were  in  depressed 
us  to  the  verge  of  melancholia.  Dingy  bottle- 
green  paper,  a  stained  carpet,  a  bathroom  in  which 
the  plumbing  wouldn't  work,  a  depressing  view 
of  a  torn-up  street !  I  wandered  around  the  cow- 
path  surrounding  my  big  bed  in  my  narrow  room, 
looked  out  at  the  weeping  sky,  and  wondered 
whether  we  were  going  to  have  this  sort  of  thing 
all  the  way — these  dust-filled  hideous  rooms, 
cleaned  only  with  a  carpet  sweeper;,  these  sooty, 
ugly,  busy,  noisy  towns.  And  the  meals — those 
anemic  chilled  potatoes,  beans  full  of  strings, 
everything  slapped  on  plates  any  which  way,  and 
everything  tasting  as  though  it  had  come  out  of 
the  same  dishwater! 

Whenever  I  am  far  away  from  home  and  un- 
comfortable, I  think  of  the  story  Eleanor  Hoyt 
Brainard  once  told  me.  After  a  long  chapter 
of  misadventures  on  one  of  those  dreadful  jour- 
neys where  she  missed  the  good  boat  and  rocked 
about  on  a  little  one,  failed  to  get  accommodations 
at  the  places  that  she  counted  on,  and  as  a  last 
straw  took  a  wrong  continental  train,  and  finally 
too  exhausted  to  sleep  was  settling  herself  for  the 
night  in  the  corner  of  a  third-class  day  coach,  she 
began  to  cry.  To  her  husband's  amazed  and 
concerned  questioning,  "Oh,  dear!"  she  sobbed, 
"it's  just  come  over  me  we  have  a  perfectly  good 
home!  And  I  wonder  why  we  don't  stay  in  it 
more!" 

87 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

"When  my  article  appeared  in  Collier's,  a  Cedar 
Eapids  newspaper  arose  in  wrath  and  said  we 
must  have  put  up  at  a  third-rate  hotel.  I  agree 
with  its  rating,  but  was  told  it  was  the  best  in 
town.  I  do  realize,  however,  it  is  a  very  distorted 
judgment  that  appraises  a  town  by  a  few  rooms 
in  an  hotel.  Unless  you  can  stay  in  a  city  long 
enough  to  know  some  of  its  people,  to  learn 
something  about  its  atmosphere  and  personality, 
your  opinion  of  it  is  as  valueless  as  your  opin- 
ion of  a  play  would  be,  after  seeing  only  the  post- 
ers on  the  outside  of  the  theater.  Yet  if  you  are  a 
transient  tourist,  it  is  the  room  you  are  shown 
into  that  necessarily  colors  your  impression  of 
that  city.  If  your  room  is  fresh  and  clean  and 
comfortable,  you  give  the  attributes  of  newness, 
cleanness  and  up-to-dateness  to  the  city  itself. 
An  ugly,  down-at-heels,  uncomfortable  hotel 
makes  you  think  the  same  of  the  city.  You  can't 
help  it,  can  you?  Besides  which  we  had  come  to 
see  the  country  and  not  stop,  rained  in,  for  in- 
definite periods  in  towns  that  differed  in  no 
way  from  dozens  of  others  in  the  East.  It  was  the 
West,  the  real  great,  free,  open  West  we  had 
come  to  see.  Eanches,  cowboys,  Indians,  not  little 
cities  like  sample  New  Yorks. 

At  the  hotel  there  was  a  large  Bakers '  Conven- 
tion. A  suggestively  domestic  affair  in  more 
ways  than  one,  since  many  had  brought  their 
wives.  As  though  in  advertisement  of  the  nour- 
ishing quality  of  a  wheat  diet,  men  and  women 
88 


ONE  OF  THE  FOGGED  IMPRESSIONS 

were  nearly  all  pleasingly  plump.  We  noticed 
also,  that  every  man  without  exception  had  a 
solitaire  diamond  ring  on  his  wedding-ring  finger. 
Sometimes  the  wife  had  only  a  wide  gold  wedding- 
ring,  but  her  husband  was  in  diamonds.  I  don't 
know  whether  bread  is  a  specialty  of  Cedar  Rap- 
ids, or  whether  an  effort  was  made  to  do  par- 
ticular honor  to  the  bakers,  but  bread  was  the 
one  thing  on  the  menu  that  proved  to  be  really 
good. 

There  were  two  bakers  and  their  wives,  elderly 
couples,  who  sat  at  the  next  table  to  us.  One  of 
the  wives  had  a  wretched  cough  and  the  other  was 
rather  deaf;  and  to  the  combination  we  owe  an 
anecdote  that  I  hope  they  did  not  mind  our  over- 
hearing, or  my  repeating. 

It  seems  the  husband  of  the  wife  who  had  the 
cough,  sent  for  a  doctor  who  had  been  out  night 
after  night  on  serious  cases  until  the  poor  man 
was  completely  exhausted.  In  order  to  listen  to 
the  patient's  breathing  he  put  his  head  on  her 
chest  and  told  her  to  * '  count  four. ' '  The  husband 
came  into  the  room  and  heard  his  wife  counting, 
"One  hundred  and  forty-six — one  hundred  and 
forty-seven "  and  the  doctor  sound  asleep! 

It  was  in  Cedar  Rapids,  too,  that  our  waitress 
told  us  about  an  automobile  she  had  just  bought, 
to  drive  out  in  the  evenings!  As  a  newspaper 
afterwards  printed  in  criticism  of  my  above  re- 
mark, '  *  Tips  in  the  West  may  be  larger  than  the 
earnings  of  dyspeptic  authoresses  in  the  East!" 
89 


CHAPTER  XV 
A  FEW  WAYS  OF  THE  WEST 

JUST  as  the  good  roads  turned  into  mud  slides 
in  a  few  minutes,  a  few  hours  of  sun  and 
wind  transformed  them  into  good  ones  again. 
After  only  two  days'  delay  we  went  back  over 
the  scene  of  all  our  misery  and  the  distance  out  of 
our  way  that  had  taken  us  nearly  six  hours,  we 
skimmed  over  in  less  than  one,  returning  to  our 
Des  Moines  road  with  a  little  delay  and  no  mis- 
adventure. (Our  non-interruptible  chauffeur 
paying  no  attention  to  the  suggestion  of  stopping 
to  taste  the  famous  springs  at  Coif  ax.) 

When  we  arrived  in  Des  Moines,  as  E.  M. 
wanted  to  take  the  car  to  a  garage  to  have  some 
things  fixed,  Celia  and  I  went  out  by  ourselves 
on  foot.  The  first  vehicle  we  saw  had  a  sign  on  it 
1 1  Jitney,  5  cents."  Never  having  been  in  one,  and 
not  caring  a  bit  where  it  took  us,  we  promptly  got 
in. 

"Now,  what  are  we  going  to  see?"  asked  Celia, 
not  addressing  anybody  in  particular. 

"Strangers?"  questioned  the  driver  affably, 
turning  around. 

"Yes,"  said  Celia,  "what  can  we  see  from  your 
car?" 

90 


A  FEW  WAYS  OF  THE  WEST 

"Well,  there's  the  Capitol— I  go  right  by  that, 
and  the  finest  buffaloes  in  the  States  are  less'n  a 
block  further  out.  You  could  go  see  the  buffaloes 
and  then  walk  back  to  the  Capitol." 

"Excellent!"  we  agreed. 

The  buffaloes  were  stuffed  in  a  case  at  the 
museum,  but  they  must  certainly  have  been  among 
the  finest  in  the  world  when  they  were  alive.  We 
also  saw  some  stuffed  prairie  dogs.  But  out  here 
you  need  not  go  in  a  museum  to  see  them !  After 
the  museum  we  walked  through  the  Capitol,  a  fine 
building  splendidly  situated  on  a  height  over- 
looking the  city  and  its  dome  newly  gleaming  with 
gold.  When  we  were  descending  the  many  steps 
of  the  Capitol's  terrace,  we  saw  the  same  jitney 
driver  who  had  brought  us  there,  and  his  car  being 
empty,  he  drew  up  expectantly  at  the  curb.  Not 
wanting,  however,  to  return  to  the  spot  we  had 
started  from,  we  suggested  that  he  take  off  his 
sign  and  drive  us  about  by  the  hour. 

He  grinned  broadly.  Sure  he  would !  Also  he 
augmented  his  price  with  equal  alacrity.  Then, 
rolling  up  his  "5-cent"  sign,  and  surveying  his 
unplacarded  machine  in  evident  satisfaction,  he 
said  jauntily: 

"I  tell  you!  The  cops '11  think  I'm  the  showfer 
of  a  millionaire \  When  you're  nothing  but  a  jit- 
ney you  stay  behind  here,  and  you  don't  go  there! 
But  you  bet  they  '11  let  me  through  now  all  right ! ' ' 

As  a  jitney  he  had  been  trundling  along  briskly, 
but  now  assuming  all  the  characteristics  of  those 
91 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

who  are  hired  by  time  instead  of  by  distance,  he 
never  let  the  speedometer  go  above  eight  miles 
an  hour ;  tried  his  best  to  keep  it  at  six  and  stalled 
the  engine  about  every  hundred  yards,  until  at 
the  end  of  a  very  little  while  of  halting  and  creep- 
ing we  found  his  tin-kettle  tramp  machine  acute 
punishment.  We  told  him  that  if  he  would  only 
go  quickly,  we  would  willingly  pay  for  a  second 
hour's  drive  at  the  end  of  twenty  minutes.  But 
nothing  we  could  say  had  any  effect  upon  him. 
He  kept  on  at  the  same  dot-and-go-one  creep. 
Finally,  in  desperation,  Celia  shrieked: 

"If  you  don't  get  us  home  at  once,  it  will  be 
too  late !  You  will  have  to  take  us  to  the  asylum ! ' ' 

He  looked  around  at  Celia  like  a  scared  rabbit, 
and  in  her  frenzied  countenance  found  evidently 
no  reassurance,  for  he  took  us  home  at  a  speed 
that  broke  the  traffic  regulations — even  for  the 
* '  showf ers  of  millionaires ! ' ' 

In  a  few  of  our  impressions,  Des  Moines  had  an 
eccentric  topsy-turviness  as  though  we  had  stum- 
bled into  the  pages  of  "Alice  in  Wonderland." 
At  the  Chamberlain,  an  old-fashioned  General 
Grant  style  of  hotel,  the  elevator  boys  sit  on 
chairs  in  the  center  of  the  elevator  and  the  guests 
stand.  When  I  asked  to  have  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  toast  sent  up  to  my  room  the  next  morning 
at  half-past  seven,  the  head  waitress  raised  her 
eyebrows  and  explained: 

"If  you  will  tell  the  clerk  at  the  desk,  he  will 
have  your  room  called  at  whatever  hour  you  say." 
92 


A  FEW  WAYS  OF  THE  WEST 

"I  don't  want  my  room  called,"  I  protested, 
"I  want  you  to  send  my  coffee  up  to  me  at  seven- 
thirty." 

She  looked  vaguely  puzzled.  Then  in  a  moment 
she  said,  with  obvious  intention  to  be  kind: 
" Don't  you  think  you  better  just  leave  a  rising 
call?  Because  maybe  you  will  feel  all  right  in 
the  morning  and '11  want  to  come  down  for  your 
breakfast." 

We  also  found  another  original  idea  in  hotel 
service.  At  the  Chamberlain  we  were  told  our 
rooms  would  be  two  dollars  and  a  half  apiece,  but 
our  bill  was  two-fifty  for  one  and  five-fifty  for  the 
other  two.  When  I  asked  why,  the  clerk  said: 
" Didn't  you  have  the  door  open  between?" 

"Certainly  we  did." 

"Well,  you  see,"  he  explained,  "that  makes 
the  room  en  suite,  so  it  is  fifty  cents  extra. ' ' 

The  interest  people  take  in  population  is  very 
amazing  to  us.  Ask  any  New  Yorker  the  city's 
population  and  two  out  of  five  will  shrug  their 
shoulders.  Ask  anyone  out  here — man,  woman 
or  child — you  will  get  on  the  spot  the  figures 
of  the  last  census — plus  the  imagined  increase 
since ! 

At  random  I  asked  two  young  girls  looking  in  a 
milliner's  window.  In  the  midst  of  their  exclama- 
tions about  the  ' '  swellness  "  of  a  black  and  white 
hat  they  answered  in  unison,  "Eighty-six  thou- 
sand, three  hundred  and  sixty-eight." 

"A  Mrs.  Simson  had  twins  this  morning — that 
93 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

makes  eighty-six  thousand,  three  hundred  and 
seventy,  doesn't  it?" 

"Why,  yes — that's  so,"  beamed  one  of  them. 

"But  six  deaths  would  make  it  six  less!" 

For  a  moment  they  looked  disconcerted,  then 
the  other  answered  brightly:  "Oh,  the  deaths '11 
come  off  the  next  census  taking,  and  there'll  be 
ever  so  many  births  before  that ! ' ' 

Des  Moines  newspapers  were  full  of  the  glory 
of  their  city.  ' '  Enterprise,  confidence,  civic  pride 
are  what  make  the  citizenship  of  our  city ! "  "  Des 
Moines  is  ever  going  forward ! ' '  are  sentences  we 
read.  "Nothing  the  matter  with  Des  Moines!" 
was  the  title  of  a  leader  in  one  of  them.  What  was 
the  matter  with  Des  Moines,  we  wondered.  The 
article  did  not  tell  us.  It  only  said :  '  *  With  our 
new  thirteen-story  building  and  the  new  gilded 
dome  of  the  Capitol,  Des  Moines  towers  above 
the  other  cities  of  the  State  like  a  lone  cottonwood 
on  the  prairie." 

However,  levity  aside,  when  Des  Moines  has 
completed  the  parkway  in  front  of  the  Capitol, 
and  built  up  all  of  the  embankment  like  the  stretch 
that  is  already  finished,  the  city  with  its  civic 
center  will  be  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  per- 
fect in  the  world.  Already  a  community  of  beau- 
tiful buildings  and  houses,  some  day  Des  Moines 
will  probably  put  up  a  last  word  in  hotels.  May- 
be Des  Moines,  being  a  city  of  homes,  doesn't  care 
about  hotels! 

Don't  think  from  this  that  the  Chamberlain  is 
94 


A  FEW  WAYS  OF  THE  WEST 

poor !  It  is  a  perfectly  comfortable  and  well-run 
hotel,  but  not  truly  representative  of  this  fine  city. 

In  a  little  hotel  the  other  day  a  waitress  rushed 
out  of  the  dining-room  and  shouted  to  the  clerk 
behind  the  desk  at  which  I  was  standing: 

"Say,  have  you  seen  Charlie?" 

"Who  wants  him  I" 

"Miss  Higgins." 

"Excuse  me  a  minute,"  said  the  clerk,  as  he 
went  to  look  for  Charlie,  the  proprietor,  for  Miss 
Higgins,  the  waitress! 

Most  of  the  hotels  so  far  have  been  comfortable 
and  nearly  all  clean.  One  of  the  exceptions  has 
a  story,  and  because  of  the  story  I  cannot  bear 
to  tell  its  name.  "A  new  house,"  the  clerk  we 
left  in  the  morning  told  us,  "doing  a  big  busi- 
ness. Yes,  you  had  better  telegraph  ahead  for 
rooms." 

Escorted  by  negro  bellboys  we  entered  a  terra 
cotta  and  green  lobby,  the  walls  and  ceilings  of 
which  protuberated  with  green  and  orange  and 
brown  and  iron  and  gold  and  plaster,  and  all 
smudged  with  many  wipings  in  of  soot. 

The  clerk,  or  proprietor,  was  a  ray  of  welcom- 
ing attentiveness.  Yes,  indeed, "  he  had  saved 
rooms  with  baths  for  each  of  us.  He  was  the  pink 
of  personal  neatness  and  we  hoped  the  bellboys' 
color  had  perhaps  not  been  chosen  with  a  pur- 
pose. Our  rooms,  however,  were  brown  and  sooty, 
and  in  my  bathroom  I  wrote  the  word  "dirt"  on 
the  washstand  with  my  finger  and  it  showed  like 
95 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

a  rut  in  the  road.  We  went  down  to  dinner  not 
expecting  much.  And,  had  surprisingly  good 
food  in  a  spotlessly  clean  dining-room! 

When  I  went  to  bed  the  electric  lights  would 
not  turn  on,  and  as  no  one  answered  the  bell  I 
gave  up  ringing  and  went  to  bed  in  the  dark.  The 
thermometer  was  about  ninety-five;  everything 
felt  gritty,  and  in  front  of  my  eyes  blinked  mock- 
ingly an  intermittent  electric  sign  which  in  letters 
six  feet  high  flashed  all  through  the  night  about  a 
snow-white  laundry! 

I  was  awakened  by  a  waiter  with  my  breakfast, 
which  couldn't  have  been  better;  clean  silver,  un- 
chipped  china,  and  the  best  coffee  and  toast 
we  had  had  anywhere!  Evidently  the  man  who 
ran  the  restaurant  was  good,  and  whoever  ran  the 
chambermaid  was  bad,  and  whoever  decorated 
the  place  in  terra  cotta,  green,  bronze  and  crim- 
son was  criminal !  The  nice  man  at  the  desk  was 
evidently  the  proprietor;  we  wondered  whether 
to  tell  him  about  the  electric  light  and  the  bells 
that  did  not  work,  and  the  good-for-nothing  cham- 
bermaid, but  decided  that  either  he  knew  it  and 
could  not  help  it  or  that  he  did  not  know  it  and 
did  not  want  to !  When  I  went  to  the  office  to  pay 
our  bill  he  was  so  really  attentively  interested  in 
our  welfare  that  I  found  myself  saying  politely: 
"We  have  been  very  comfortable." 

The  man's  look  of  wistfulness  changed  to  one 
of  pitying  perplexity:  "You  have  been  com- 
fortable !  Here  ? ' '  He  smiled  as  one  would  smile 
96 


A  FEW  WAYS  OF  THE  WEST 

at  a  child  who  was  trying  to  say  it  did  not  mind 
the  splinter  in  its  finger. 

"I  had  a  delicious  breakfast,"  I  found  myself 
saying  enthusiastically.  * '  Really  I  did.  The  best 
toast  I  have  had  since  I  left  my  home. ' ' 

1 '  Did  you ! "  He  seemed  pleased  and  interested. 
"You  were  lucky." 

His  expressionless,  dry  tone  and  impersonal 
smile  would  have  made  Hodge  in  *  *  The  Man  From 
Home"  even  more  famous. 

"Don't  you  mind  my  feelings,"  he  said,  "you 
needn't  try  to  pretend  my  house  is  first-class  or 
even  second !  I  've  seen  good  hotels,  and  I  know ! ' ' 
He  leaned  over  the  desk  away  from  one  of  the 
"shoe  men."  "It's  about  fourth-class;  that's 
just  about  what  it  is." 

"There  is  just  one  thing  the  matter "  I 

hesitated. 

" One,  which  one?" 

"A  dirty  chambermaid." 

"Oh,  they're  Polacks!  Housekeeper  can't 
break  them  in!  They  are  something  like  cats; 
they  don't  take  to  water!  No,  ma'am,  there  is  a 
big  difference  between  this  house  and  the  ones  in 
New  York  City,  I  know  that;  but  all  the  same," 
and  the  first  look  of  pride  crept  into  his  face, 
"this  hotel's  the  best  in  the  city.  The  others 'd 
tumble  to  pieces  if  you  stepped  in  'em. ' ' 

A  great  deal  of  Iowa  is  uncultivated,  pictur- 
esque, with  grazing  lands,  many  trees, — chiefly 
97 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

beautiful  cottonwood, — and  streams,  and  much 
prettier  than  Illinois,  although  Illinois  was  to  me 
more  interesting  because  of  the  immense  flat 
farms  of  grain,  and  the  houses  in  groups,  like  be- 
ing placed  at  the  hub  of  a  wheel,  the  farms  spread- 
ing out  like  the  spokes.  The  houses  were  like 
those  in  New  England,  white  with  green  shutters 
and  well  built.  All  of  this  great  Western  country 
is  rich  on  its  face  value,  and  it  is  little  surprise 
to  be  told  of  the  wealth  reputed  to  these  land- 
owners. 

Every  town  through  the  Middle  West  seems  to 
have  a  little  grill  of  brick-paved  streets ;  a  splen- 
did post-office  building  of  stone  or  brick  or 
marble ;  a  court-house,  but  of  an  older  period  gen- 
erally; and  one  or  two  moving  picture  houses; 
two  or  three  important-looking  dry-goods  stores, 
and  some  sort  of  hotel,  and  in  it  a  lot  of  drummers 
in  tilted-back  chairs  exhibiting  the  soles  of  their 
shoes  to  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
HALFWAY  HOUSE 

WHERE,  Oh,  where  is  the  West  that  East- 
erners dream  of — the  West  of  Bret 
Harte's  stories,  the  West  depicted  in 
the  moving  pictures?  Are  the  scenes  no  longer 
to  be  found  except  in  the  pages  of  a  book,  or  on  a 
cinematograph  screen?  We  have  gone  half  the 
distance  across  the  continent  and  all  this  while  we 
might  be  anywhere  at  home.  Omaha  is  a  big  up- 
to-date  and  perfectly  Eastern  city,  and  the  Fon- 
tanelle  is  a  brand-new  hotel  where  we  are  going 
to  stay  over  a  day  in  order  to  luxuriate  in  our 
rooms. 

One  act  of  cruelty,  however,  I  hereby  protest 
against;  they  sent  to  our  rooms  a  tempting  bill 
of  fare — a  special  and  delicious-sounding  luncheon 
at  only  sixty  cents!  When  we  hurried  down  to 
order  it,  we  were  told  it  was  served  solely  to  the 
traveling  men  in  their  cafe,  Celia  and  I  not  ad- 
mitted. E.  M.  said  it  was  as  good  as  it  sounded — • 
much  interest  was  that  to  us !  Also  that  he  sat 
at  a  table  with  a  traveler  for  the  Ansco  Photo- 
graphic Company.  E.  M.  had  some  very  poor 
films  we  had  taken,  and  after  luncheon  his  new 
friend  made  him  some  prints.  The  results  were 
99 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

little  short  of  marvellous.  If  it  was  the  paper, — 
why  does  anyone  ever  use  any  other  f  If  it  was  the 
man,  Oh,  why  doesn't  he  open  a  hospital  for  the 
benefit  of  weak  and  decrepit  amateur  films. 

On  the  subject  of  food,  the  cumulative  effect 
of  a  traveling  diet  is  queer.  After  many  days  of 
it  you  feel  as  though  you  had  been  interlined  with 
a  sort  of  paste.  Everything  you  eat  is  made  of 
flour,  flour,  and  again  flour.  A  friend  of  ours  took 
a  trip  around  the  world  going  by  slow  stages. 
After  a  month  or  two  her  letters  were  nothing 
except  dissertations  on  the  state  of  the  cleanli- 
ness of  hotels  and  the  quality  of  the  food.  Alas ! 
We  are  getting  the  same  attitude  of  mind. 
Ordinarily  the  advantage  of  motoring  is  that  if 
you  don't  like  the  appearance  of  the  hotel  you 
come  to,  you  can  go  on.  Out  here  where  one 
stopping-place  is  fifty  or  a  hundred  miles  away 
from  the  other,  that  is  not  possible,  unless  you 
are  willing  to  drive  nights  and  days  without  a 
pause,  or  sleep  along  the  roadside  and  be  inde- 
pendent of  hotels  altogether.  We  are  not  travel- 
ing that  way — yet. 

Omaha,  as  everyone  knows,  is  divided  from 
Council  Bluffs  by  the  coffee-colored  Missouri. 
How  can  as  much  mud  as  that  be  carried  down 
current  all  the  time  and  leave  any  land  above,  or 
any  river  below? 

It  seemed  to  us  that  Council  Bluffs  and  Omaha 
were  comparatively  not  unlike  Brooklyn  and 
Manhattan.  Council  Bluffs  is  much  the  smaller 
100 


HALFWAY  HOUSE 

city  and  the  Bluffs  from  which  it  takes  its  name 
are  not  steep  river  embankments  as  we  had  sup- 
posed, but  a  high  residence-crowned  hill  behind 
and  above  its  innumerable  railroad  stations. 
Nothing,  by  the  way,  seems  more  typical  of 
American  towns  than  to  have  a  "  residential  dis- 
trict" on  the  "heights." 

Omaha,  as  I  said  before,  is  an  impressively  up- 
to-date  city  with  many  fine  new  buildings,  im- 
portant dwellings  and  beautiful  avenues  on  which, 
last  but  not  least,  motors  are  made  hospitably 
welcome.  In  nearly  all  Eastern  cities  automo- 
biles are  treated  as  though  they  were  loitering 
tramps;  continually  ordered  by  the  police  to 
' '  keep  moving  along. ' '  In  Omaha  the  avenues  are 
so  splendidly  wide  that  they  can  afford  chalked- 
off  parking-places  in  the  center  of  the  streets 
where  motors  can  stand  unmolested  and  indefi- 
nitely. If  only  New  York  and  Boston  had  the 
space  to  follow  their  example ! 

Much  as  New  Yorkers  go  to  Sherry's  or  the 
Eitz,  Omaha  society  seems  to  come  to  the  Fon- 
tanelle  to  dine.  On  Sunday  evenings,  we  are  told, 
it  is  impossible  to  secure  a  table  unless  ordered 
long  in  advance.  Even  on  an  ordinary  evening, 
the  dining-room  of  the  Fontanelle  looked  like  an 
"Importers'  Opening."  A  few  women  looked 
smart,  but  a  number  suggested  the  probability  of 
their  having  arrayed  themselves  to  take  part  in 
tableau  vivants,  or  an  amateur  fashion  parade. 

A  young  girl  with  pink  tulle  draped  around  the 
101 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

lower  half  of  her  face  bent  the  top  edge  down 
gingerly  while  she  ate  a  few  mouthfuls,  and  then 
carefully  arranged  it  across  the  tip  of  her  nose 
again.  It  seemed  to  be  another  example  beside 
that  of  banting  for  thinness,  of  faut  avoir  faim 
pour  etre  belle. 

A  quite  plump  matron  had  on  a  high-necked 
dress  of  white  satin  hooped  round  the  hips,  and 
trimmed  with  black  velvet;  another  wore  black 
charmeuse,  the  neck  and  sleeves  and  picture  hat 
outlined  with  three-quarter  inch  diameter  pearl 
beads,  but  the  prize  for  eccentricities  of  costumes 
belonged  to  a  man  in  a  black-and-white  checked 
suit,  black-and-white  striped  socks  and  tie,  and 
a  white  stiff  shirt  with  black  mourning  border  on 
the  collar  and  cuffs  and  down  the  front  seam. 
You  can't  get  away  from  the  black-and-white 
craze  anywhere;  people  will  paint  the  fronts  of 
their  houses  in  black-and-white  stripes  if  the  ob- 
session goes  any  further. 

Among  the  appropriately  and  well-dressed 
women  one  was  superlatively  smart.  This  one 
was  really  perfect,  from  the  direction  in  which  her 
hair  was  brushed  to  exactly  suit  the  outline  of 
her  hat,  to  her  perfectly  shaped  patent-leather 
shoes.  Her  costume  is  not  much  to  describe:  a 
severely  simple  gun-metal-colored  taffeta  one- 
piece  dress  with  a  white  organdie  collar  and 
sleeves  of  self-colored  chiffon,  a  wide-brimmed 
black  straw  hat  turned  up  at  one  side  of  the  back 
with  a  black  bird.  The  distinctive  effect  was  due 
102 


HALFWAY  HOUSE 

more  to  the  way  it  was  worn  than  to  the  costume. 
You  felt  that  it  belonged  to  her  almost  in  the 
way  that  a  collie's  fur  belongs  to  him;  it  was 
as  much  a  part  of  her,  as  her  perfectly  done  hair 
or  her  polished  fingernails.  How  few  women  pay 
attention  to  the  effect  or  outline  that  their  heads 
make !  Nine  women  out  of  ten — more,  forty-nine 
out  of  fifty — seemingly  gather  their  hair  up  on 
a  haphazard  spot  on  their  heads  and  fasten  it 
there  almost  any  way.  Sit  in  any  theater  audience 
and  look  at  them!  And  yet  a  paradox;  a  really 
chic  woman  never  gives  the  appearance  of  having 
made  an  effort.  Her  hair  suggests  dexterity,  not 
effort,  and  though  she  may  have  on  a  four-hun- 
dred-dollar creation  of  jet  or  white  velvet  she 
looks  as  though  she  happened  to  put  on  a  black 
dress  or  a  white  one,  but  never  as  though  she  had 
put  on  the  black  or  the  white  one !  This  disserta- 
tion, by  the  way,  belongs  by  no  means  solely  to 
Omaha,  but  to  every  city  where  women  follow 
fashions.  New  York  women  are  quite  as  prone  to 
be  content  with  being  mannequins  for  the  display 
of  their  clothes  rather  than  take  greater  pains  to 
select  clothes  that  are  a  completion  of  their  own 
personalities — the  last  leaf  left  for  the  American 
woman  to  take  out  of  the  book  of  her  Parisian 
sister. 

Quite  by  chance  on  our  last  evening,  we  ran 
across  Mrs.  K.  in  the  corridor  of  the  Fontanelle ; 
and  the  next  moment  found  ourselves  in  a  little 
103 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

fragment  of  Omaha  Society — with  a  capital  S. 
Had  it  not  been  for  one  topic  of  conversation  I 
should  probably  not  mention  the  incident,  as  we 
had  merely  a  glimpse  of  a  few  well-bred  people 
that  offered  little  matter  for  comment.  The  topic 
was  the  famous  cyclone  of  three  years  ago. 
Among  the  stories  they  told  us,  was  one  of  Mrs.  E., 
the  one  whose  appearance  I  had  so  much  admired 
earlier  in  the  evening.  Three  years  ago  she  ar- 
rived home  from  Paris  with  seventeen  trunks  full 
of  trousseau,  and  as  soon  as  her  things  could  be 
unpacked  she  spread  them  around  a  big  room,  in 
imitation  of  a  bazaar,  so  that  her  particular 
friends  might  view  them.  Instead  of  her  friends, 
however,  arrived  the  Cyclone!  It  tore  off  the 
entire  bay  window;  caught  up  dresses,  hats,  lin- 
gerie, wraps;  whisked  them  through  the  open 
space  where  the  window  had  been,  and  festooned 
the  topmost  branches  of  the  trees  all  down  Far- 
num  Avenue  with  fragments  of  French  finery. 

Scarcely  a  garment  was  ever  worth  rescuing,  as 
each  was  pierced  through  and  through  by  the 
branches  that  skewered  it  fast. 

Mrs.  K.'s  own  story  of  the  cyclone,  I  give  as 
she  told  it.  "It  did  not  seem  very  amusing  at 
the  time,  but  one  of  the  funny  things  to  look  back 
upon  was  what  happened  to  Father !  The  storm 
came  from  the  south.  Father  started  across  the 
living-room,  which  has  both  north  and  south  win- 
dows, just  as  the  cyclone  struck.  The  windows 
burst  out,  the  furniture  flew  around  the  room  and 
104 


HALFWAY  HOUSE 

literally  out  of  the  north  window.  Father  made 
a  sort  of  vortex  in  the  middle  and  everything 
swirled  like  a  whirlpool  around  him.  When  we 
got  to  him  he  was  tightly  bound  up  in  the  rugs, 
portieres,  and  curtains,  which  completely  pre- 
vented his  moving;  but  also  protected  him  snugly 
from  flying  glass.  He  was  prostrate,  of  course, 
and  lightly  resting  on  his  chest  was  a  large  pic- 
ture of  the  Doge's  palace." 

Whatever  damage  the  cyclone  did  has  long  been 
obliterated,  and  Omaha  now  presents  a  beauti- 
fully in  order  exterior  and  enjoys  an  evidently 
gay  social  life ;  two  features  of  which  are  the  new 
Hotel,  and  the  Country  Club — neither  of  them 
likely  to  grow  much  moss  on  their  ballroom  floors. 

But  to  go  from  the  triviality  of  the  mere  social 
side  to  the  deeper  characteristics  of  the  Omahans. 
There  is  something  very  inspiring,  very  wonder- 
ful in  the  attitude  of  the  West.  The  pride  in  their 
city,  the  personal  caring,  that  we  met  first  in  Chi- 
cago, is  also  the  underlying  motive  here.  One 
hears  much  of  the  ambitious  Western  towns,  but 
I  think  the  word  not  quite  right;  it  is  not  mere 
ambition,  but  aspiration,  that  is  carrying  them 
forward.  One  of  the  editors  of  a  leading  paper 
said  yesterday : 

' '  The  making  of  a  great  city  depends  less  on  the 
men  who  are  in  office  than  on  those  who  have  no 
office,  and  who  want  none.  It  is  the  spirit  of  the 
people  that  makes  a  city  go  forward  or  leaves  it 
standing  still.  The  spirit  that  is  essential  to  prog- 
105 


BY]  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

ress,  in  Omaha  as  everywhere,  is  one  of  unity, 
harmony  and  good  will.  Combined  with  this 
there  must  be  energy,  enterprise,  confidence  in 
the  future,  civic  pride  and  devotion.  No  city,  how- 
ever well  favored  otherwise,  can  make  the  prog- 
ress its  opportunities  call  for,  if  its  people  are 
forever  quarreling  among  themselves,  envious  of 
one  another's  good  fortune,  seeking  each  to  build 
himself  up  by  tearing  some  other  down.  It  is 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  in  mass  formation,  that 
great  armies  advance.  Eancor,  hatred,  suspicion, 
pettiness,  that  cause  division  in  the  ranks,  are 
as  deadly  as  the  other  extreme  where  indifference, 
greed,  lack  of  respect  for  the  other  man's  rights, 
produce  dry  rot." 

Nor  are  these  merely  editorial  embroideries  of 
speech.  They  are  the  actual  sentiments,  not  only 
thought,  but  for  the  most  part  lived  up  to. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
NEXT  STOP,  NORTH  PLATTE! 

NORTH  PLATTE    might  really  be  called 
"City  of  Ishmael."    For  no  reason  that 
is  discoverable  except  its  mere  existence, 
every  man's  tongue  seems  to  be  against  it.    Time 
and  time  again — in  fact  the  repetition  is  becoming 
monotonous — people  say  to  us,  "It  is  all  very 
well,  of  course,  you  have  had  fine  hotels  and  good 
roads  so  far,  but  wait  until  you  come  to  North 
Plattel" 

"Why,  I  wonder,  does  everyone  pick  out  North 
Platte  as  a  sort  of  third  degree  place  of  punish- 
ment? "Why  not  one  of  the  other  names  through 
which  our  road  runs?  Why  always  set  up  that 
same  unfortunate  town  as  a  target?  It  began  with 
Mrs.  0.  in  New  York,  who  declared  it  so  dreadful 
a  place  that  we  could  never  live  through  it.  Her 
point  of  view  being  extremely  fastidious,  her 
opinion  does  not  alarm  us  as  much  as  it  otherwise 
might,  but  in  Chicago,  too,  the  mention  of  our 
going  to  North  Platte  seemed  to  be  the  signal  for 
people  to  look  sorry  for  us.  Now  a  drummer 
downstairs  has  just  added  his  mite  to  our  grow- 
ing apprehension. 

'  t'  th'  coast?"  he  queried.    "Hmm— I 
107 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

guess  you  won't  like  th'  hotels  at  North  Platte 
overmuch. ' ' 

"Do  you  go  there  often?"  I  returned. 

"Me?"  he  said  indignantly.  "Not  on  your 
life !  No  one  ever  gets  off  at  North  Platte  except 
the  railroad  men — they  have  to!"  That  is  the 
one  unexplained  phase  of  the  subject,  no  one  of 
all  those  who  have  villified  it  has  personally  been 
there. 

Just  as  I  asked  if  he  could  perhaps  tell  me  which 
of  the  hotels  was  least  bad,  a  fellow  drummer 
joined  him.  The  usual  expression  of  commisera- 
tion followed. 

"Well,"  said  the  second  drummer,  "it's  this 
way.  Whichever  hotel  you  put  up  at,  you'll  wish 
you  had  put  up  at  the  other." 

' '  Suppose  it  turns  out  to  be  the  very  worst  we 
can  think  of — what  can  that  worst  be?"  I  asked 
rather  shakily  of  Celia. 

"Dirty  rooms  over  a  saloon  with  drunken  'bad 
men'  shooting  in  it,"  she  whispered  with  a  shiver. 

"Don't  you  think — "  we  suggested  to  E.  M., 
"it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  buy  a  pistol,  in 
case " 

"In  case ?"  he  asked  with  the  completely 

indifferent  tranquillity  of  youth. 

Celia  prodded  me.    "Well,  just  in  case "  I 

said  lamely.    I  think  Celia  might  have  finished  the 
sentence  herself. 

Of  all  the  bogey  stories,  the  one  about  North 
Platte  is  the  most  unfounded !    Instead  of  a 
108 


NEXT  STOP,  NORTH  PLATTE! 

roaring  town,  rioting  in  red  and  yellow  ribaldry, 
it  is  a  serious  railroad  thoroughfare,  self-respect- 
ing and  above  reproach  and  the  home  of  no  less 
a  celebrity  than  Mr.  Cody— Buffalo  Bill.  Of 
course  if  you  imagine  you  are  going  to  find  a 
Blackstone  or  a  Fontanelle,  you  will  be  disap- 
pointed, but  in  comparison  to  some  of  the  other 
hotels  along  the  Lincoln  Highway,  the  Union  Pa- 
cific in  North  Platte  is  a  model  of  delectability ! 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  an  ocher-colored  wood- 
en railroad  station,  a  rather  bare  dining-room, 
and  lunch  counter,  and  perfectly  good,  clean  bed- 
rooms upstairs.  You  cannot  get  a  suite  with  a 
private  bath,  and  if  you  are  more  or  less  spoiled 
by  the  supercomforts  of  luxurious  living,  you  may 
not  care  to  stay  very  long.  But  if  in  all  of  your 
journeying  around  the  world,  you  never  have  to 
put  up  with  any  greater  hardship  than  spending 
a  night  at  the  Union  Pacific  in  North  Platte,  you 
will  certainly  not  have  to  stay  at  home  on  that  ac- 
count. There  are  no  drunkards  or  toughs  or  even 
loafers  hanging  about ;  the  food  is  cleanly  served 
and  good;  the  rooms,  although  close  to  the  rail- 
road tracks,  are  as  spotless  as  brooms  and  scrub- 
bing-brushes can  make  them.1 

There  is  a  place,  though,  between  the  Missouri 
and  the  Eio  Grande — there  is  no  use  in  being  more 
exact  as  to  its  locality — where,  except  in  case  of 

1  Since  writing  the  above,  the  Union  Pacific  Hotel  has  unfor- 
tunately burned  down — and  still  more  unfortunately  for  tourists, 
the  railroad  is  not  building  another,  and  will  run  a  restaurant 
only. 

109 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

accident — ours  was  a  broken  spring — you  are  not 
likely  to  stay.  There  our  own  particular  horrors 
were  pretty  well  realized:  dirty  rooms  over  a 
saloon  and  lounging  toughs  on  the  corner ;  uneat- 
able hunks  of  food  at  a  table  in  a  barroom,  our 
dinner  put  in  front  of  us  on  a  platter,  and  no 
plates  used  at  all.  And  the  bedrooms!  I  slept 
on  top  of  my  bed  wrapped  in  an  ulster  with  my 
head  on  the  lining  of  my  coat.  And  even  so,  I  was 
seriously  bitten  by  small  but  voracious  prior  in- 
habitants. The  next  day  all  the  "bath"  I  had 
was  a  catlick  with  the  corner  of  a  handkerchief 
held  reluctantly  under  a  greasy  spigot. 

This  experience  was  pretty  unappetizing  but 
also  it  was  our  only  bad  one,  sent  no  doubt  as  a 
punishment  for  our  lack  of  appreciation  of  one 
or  two  former  stopping-places,  which,  as  E.  M. 
would  say,  "sounds  fair  enough."  Also  in  order 
to  live  consistently  up  to  that  motor  philosophy  I 
wrote  about,  we  will  in  time  be  glad  of  the  color  it 
will  give  to  our  memory  book.  But  at  present  its 
color  seems  merely  a  grease  spot  on  the  page,  and 
all  the  motor  philosophy  in  the  world  doesn't 
seem  potent  enough  to  blot  out  the  taste  and  smell, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  stings. 

By  the  way,  I  seem  to  have  arrived  at  North 
Platte  and  possibly  farther,  on  a  magic  carpet — a 
little  difficult  for  anyone  taking  this  as  a  guide 
to  follow!  Therefore  to  go  back,  merely  on  the 
subject  of  the  roads,  almost  as  far  as  Des  Moines. 
110 


NEXT  STOP,  NORTH  PLATTE! 

Taking  the  general  average  of  luck  in  motoring, 
no  matter  how  well  things  have  gone  for  you,  the 
chances  are  that  you  have  had  some  delays.  A 
day  or  two  of  rain  that  held  you  up,  detours  that 
made  you  lose  your  way,  a  run  of  tire  trouble — 
something,  no  matter  what  it  is,  that  has  delayed 
you  more  than  you  expected.  And  whatever  it 
is  you  find  yourself  thinking  this  does  not  matter 
very  much  because  when  we  get  to  those  Nebraska 
fast  roads  we  can  make  up  lost  time  easily. 

The  very  sound  "  Nebraska"  correlates 
"dragged  roads"  speed!  While  you  are  still 
gently  running  through  the  picturesque  Sir 
Joshua  Beynolds  scenery  of  the  River  to  River 
road  in  Iowa,  you  find  that  your  mind  is  develop- 
ing an  anticipatory  speed  craze.  So  thoroughly 
imbued  has  your  mind  become  with  the  "fast 
road"  idea  that  the  very  ground  has  a  speed  gift 
in  its  dragged  surface.  What  if  your  engine  is 
barely  capable  of  forty  miles  an  hour,  that  mi- 
raculously fast  stretch  magically  carries  you  at 
the  easiest  fifty.  If  you  have  a  big  powerful  en- 
gine, you  forget  that  ordinarily  you  dislike  whiz- 
zing across  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  for  just 
this  once — even  though  you  think  of  it  more  in 
terror  than  in  joy — you  are  approaching  the  race- 
way of  America,  and  you,  too,  are  going  to  race ! 

"We  must  be  sure  that  everything  is  in  perfect 
running  order,"  you  exclaim  excitedly  as  you 
picture  your  car  leaping  out  of  Omaha  and  shoot- 
ing to  Denver  while  scarcely  turning  over  its  en- 
111 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

gine.  "Not  many  stopping-places,"  you  are  told. 
What  matter  is  that  to  you?  You  are  not  think- 
ing of  stopping  at  all.  North  Platte,  perhaps, 
yes.  Three  hundred  and  thirty  miles  in  a  day  is 
just  a  nice  little  fast  road  run. 

"A  nice  little  which?"  says  the  head  of  a  gar- 
age in  Omaha. 

"We'll  leave  early,"  you  continue,  unheeding, 
"and  make  a  dash  across  the  continental  speed- 
way  " 

"See  here,  stranger,"  says  the  garage  man, 
"what  state  of  fast  circuits  d'y  think  y're  in! 
This  is  Nebraska  and  the  speed  limit  is  twenty 
miles!" 

' '  Twenty  miles  a  minute  1 ' '  you  gasp, ' '  that  cer- 
tainly is  speed ! ' ' 

The  garage  man  half  edges  away  from  you. 
"Fr'm  here  t'  Denver  is  about  thutty-five  hours' 
straight  travelin'.  You  gutta  slow  down  t'  eight 
miles  through  towns  and  y'  can't  go  over  twenty 
miles  an  hour  nowheres ! ' ' 

When  you  manage  to  get  a  little  breath  into 
your  collapsed  lungs  you  say  dazedly,  "But  we're 
going  over  the  'fast  dragged'  road." 

"Road's  fast  enough!  But  the  law '11  have  you 
if  you  drive  over  it  f aster 'n  twenty  miles  an 
hour." 

If  you  can  find  the  joke  in  all  of  this,  you  have 
a  more  humorous  mental  equipment  and  a  sweeter 
disposition  than  we  had. 

Across  Nebraska  from  the  last  good  hotel  in 
112 


NEXT  STOP,  NORTH  PLATTE! 

Omaha  to  the  first  comfortable  one  in  Denver  or 
Cheyenne  is  over  five  hundred  miles.  At  the 
prescribed  "speed"  of  about  seventeen  miles  an 
hour  average,  it  means  literally  a  pleasant  little 
run  of  between  thirty  and  forty  hours  along  a 
road  dead  level,  wide,  straight,  and  where  often 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  there  is  not  even  a 
shack  in  the  dimmest  distance,  and  the  only  set- 
tlers to  be  seen  are  prairie  dogs. 

If  between  Omaha  and  Cheyenne  there  were 
three  or  four  attractive  clean  little  places  to  stop, 
or  if  the  Nebraska  speed  laws  were  abolished  or 
disregarded  and  it  didn't  rain,  you  could  motor  to 
the  heart  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  with  the  utmost 
ease  and  comfort. 

In  May,  1915,  the  road  by  way  of  Sterling  to 
Denver  was  impassable;  all  automobiles  were 
bogged  between  Big  Spring  and  Julesburg,  so  on 
the  advice  of  car  owners  that  we  met,  we  went 
by  way  of  Chappell  to  Cheyenne.  It  is  quite  pos- 
sible, of  course,  that  we  blindly  passed  comfort- 
able stopping-places,  but  to  us  that  whole  vast 
distance  from  Omaha  to  Cheyenne  was  one  to  be 
crossed  with  as  little  stop-over  as  possible.  Aside 
from  questions  of  accommodations  and  speed  laws, 
the  interminable  distance  was  in  itself  an  unfor- 
getably  wonderful  experience.  It  gave  us  an  im- 
pression of  the  lavish  immensity  of  our  own 
country  as  nothing  else  could.  Think  of  driving 
on  and  on  and  on  and  yet  the  scene  scarcely 
changing,  the  flat  road  stretching  as  endlessly  in 
113 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

front  of  you  as  behind.  The  low  yellow  sand 
banks  and  flat  sand  islands  scarcely  vary  on  the 
Platte,  which  might  as  well  be  called  the  Flat, 
Eiver.  The  road  does  gradually  rise  several  thou- 
sand feet  but  the  distance  is  so  immense  your  en- 
gine does  not  perceive  a  grade.  Once  in  a  while 
you  pass  great  herds  of  cattle  fenced  in  vast 
enclosures  and  every  now  and  then  you  come  to 
a  group  of  nesters'  shanties,  scattered  over  the 
gray-green  plain  as  though  some  giant  child  had 
dropped  its  blocks,  or  as  though  some  Titans, 
playing  dominoes,  had  left  a  few  lying  on  the 
table. 

At  greater  intervals  you  come  to  towns  and 
you  drive  between  two  closely  fitted  rows  of 
oddly  assorted  domino-shaped  stores  and  houses, 
and  then  on  out  upon  the  great  flat  table  again. 
For  scores  and  scores  of  miles  the  scene  is  un- 
varying. On  and  on  you  go  over  that  endless 
road  until  at  last  far,  far  on  the  gray  horizon  you 
catch  the  first  faint  glint  of  the  white-peaked 
Rocky  Mountains. 

You  have  long  ago  turned  away  from  the  river's 
yellow  sand  flats,  and  you  watch  that  slowly  ris- 
ing snow-topped  rim,  until — it  may  be  gradually, 
or  it  may  be  suddenly — your  heart  is  thrilled  by 
the  sublimity  of  the  amazing  contrast  of  mountain 
upon  plain. 

Perhaps  you  may  merely  find  dullness  in  the 
endlessly  flat,  unvarying  monotonous  land;  per- 
haps you  are  unwilling  to  be  enthralled  by  Titanic 
114 


NEXT  STOP,  NORTH  PLATTE! 

cones  of  rock  or  snow.  But  steep  your  sight 
for  days  in  flatness,  until  you  think  the  whole 
width  of  the  world  has  melted  into  a  never-ending 
sea  of  land,  and  then  see  what  the  drawing 
close  to  those  most  sublime  of  mountains  does  to 
you! 

And  afterwards,  when  you  have  actually 
climbed  to  their  knees  or  shoulders,  and  look  back 
upon  the  endless  plains,  you  forget  the  wearying 
journey  and  feel  keenly  the  beauty  of  their  very 
endlessness.  The  ever-changing  effect  of  light 
and  shadow  over  that  boundless  expanse  weaves 
an  enchanted  spell  upon  your  imagination  that  you 
can  never  quite  recover  from.  Sometimes  the 
prairies  are  a  great  sea  of  mist;  sometimes  they 
are  a  parched  desert;  sometimes  they  are  blue 
like  the  waves  of  an  enchanted  sapphire  sea;  some- 
times they  melt  into  a  plain  of  vaporous  purple 
mystery,  and  then  the  clouds  shift  away  from 
the  sun  and  you  see  they  are  a  width  of  the 
world,  of  land. 

But  however  or  whenever  you  look  out  upon 
them,  you  feel  as  though  mean  little  thoughts, 
petty  worries,  or  skulking  gossip  whispers,  could 
never  come  into  your  wind-swept  mind  again. 
That  if  you  could  only  live  with  such  vastness  of 
outlook  before  you,  perhaps  your  own  puny  heart 
and  mind  and  soul  might  grow  into  something  big- 
ger, simpler,  worthier  than  is  ever  likely  other- 
wise. 

And  now  I  am  getting  quite  over  my  head,  so 
115 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

better  climb  down  the  mountains  again  and  go 
back  to  the  motor,  which  may  be  supposed  to  have 
reached  Cheyenne. 

If  you  think  Cheyenne  is  a  Buffalo  Bill  Wild 
West  town,  as  we  did,  you  will  be  much  disap- 
pointed, though  it  may  be  well  not  to  show  the 
progressive  citizens  of  that  up-to-date  city  that 
you  hoped  they  were  still  galloping  along  wooden 
sidewalks  howling  like  coyotes! 

I  thought  that  Celia  and  E.  M.  looked  distinctly 
grieved  at  the  sight  of  smooth  laid  asphalt,  wide- 
paved  sidewalks,  imposing  capitol  and  modern 
buildings.  Even  the  brand-new  Plains  Hotel  was 
accepted  by  both  of  them  in  much  the  same  spirit 
that  a  child  who  thought  it  was  going  to  the  circus 
and  found  itself  at  a  museum  of  art,  would  accept 
the  compensation  of  a  nice  hot  supper  instead  of 
peanuts  and  red  lemonade. 

Unfortunately  we  had  no  friends  in  Cheyenne 
and  therefore  never  got  so  far  as  even  the  thresh- 
old of  society,  but  the  following  account  taken 
from  the  morning  paper  is  irrefutable  evidence 
that  Cheyenne,  far  from  being  a  wild  town  of 
border  outlawry,  is  a  center  of  refined  elegance 
and  fashion: 

"Governor  and  Mrs.  K.  tendered  a  beauti- 
ful courtesy  to  the  Cheyenne  and  visiting  cadets 
and  their  sponsors  Sunday  afternoon  when  they 
entertained  them  at  an  informal  reception  and 
luncheon  at  the  executive  mansion. 
116 


NEXT  STOP,  NORTH  PLATTE! 

"This  brilliant  social  function  was  scarcely 
second  in  the  estimation  of  the  guests  to  the  wall- 
scaling  tournament  Saturday  evening,  when  world 
records  were  smashed  by  the  invincible  cadet 
squad  from  Casper. 

"The  Governor's  mansion  was  exceedingly  at- 
tractive with  its  luxurious  furnishings,  in  artistic 
setting.  One  hundred  and  twenty  voices  mingled 
in  chatter,  laughter  and  song  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  violin  and  piano.  College  songs  and  fa- 
miliar popular  airs  in  which  everyone  joined, 
made  the  'welkin  ring'  as  the  exuberant  spirits 
found  vent  in  melody. 

"To  the  hostess'  understanding  of  the  needs  of 
boys  and  girls  was  due  the  satisfactory  nature 
and  quantities  of  the  salads,  sandwiches,  ice 
cream  and  candies  served  so  generously  in  the 
dining-room. 

"The  cadets  outnumbered  the  pretty  sponsors 
eight  to  one,  and  every  girl  was  a  queen  at  whose 
shrine  a  circle  of  admiring  youths  was  in  constant 
attendance. ' ' 

In  our  ignorance  we  don't  know  what  a  "spon- 
sor" is  further  than  that  the  paper  tells  us  she  is 
a  young  girl  who  is  a  queen  of  despotic  fascina- 
tion, but  what,  or  whom,  or  why  or  how  she 
sponsors,  is  a  mystery  too  deep  for  our  solving. 
Cadet,  of  course,  makes  an  instantaneous  picture 
of  a  straight,  square-shouldered  young  human 
being  of  inflexibly  rigid  demeanor  but  with  a  quite 
117 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

susceptible  young  human  heart  beating  under- 
.neath  his  rigid  exterior. 

The  object  in  quoting  all  this  is  merely  to  show 
our  fellow  Easterners  that  the  "West  of  yesterday 
was  no  longer  to  be  found  in  Cheyenne! 

On  one  day  in  the  year  though,  they  have  a 
Frontier  Days  Celebration — when,  like  in  the'  mid- 
night hour  of  the  Puppen  Fee,  the  West  that  was, 
comes  back  to  life.  There  are  wonderful  exhibits 
of  "broncho  busting"  and  rope  throwing,  and  all 
the  features  of  county  fair,  horse  show,  and  wild 
west  show  in  one. 

From  Cheyenne  to  Denver,  and  from  Denver  to 
Colorado  Springs,  the  road  was  uneventfully  ex- 
cellent all  the  way. 

Denver,  where  we  stopped  merely  for  luncheon, 
is  far  too  important  a  city  to  mention  in  a  brief 
paragraph  or  two,  and  is  for  that  reason  left  out 
altogether. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  CITY  OF  RECKLESSNESS 

FOR  West  is  West,  and  East  is  East,  and 
never  twain  shall  meet" — except  in  Colo- 
rado Springs! 

Mountains,  plains,  squatters'  shanties,  replicas 
of  foreign  palaces,  cowboys,  Indians,  ranchers, 
New  Yorkers,  Londoners.  The  free  open-air 
life  and  altitude  of  the  plains,  the  sheltered 
luxurious  manners  and  customs  of  the  idle 
rich!  Across  the  warp  of  Western  characteris- 
tics is  woven  the  woof  of  a  cosmopolitan  so- 
ciety. 

Before  coming  here  I  had  imagined  the  place  a 
sort  of  huge  sanatorium.  I  had  expected  long 
lines  of  invalid  chairs  on  semi-enclosed  verandas, 
even  beds  possibly,  as  in  the  outdoor  wards  of  hos- 
pitals. I  knew,  of  course,  that  there  were  good 
hotels  and  many  private  houses;  and  having 
friends  who  had  come  out  here,  I  thought  perhaps 
we  might  take  luncheon  or  dinner  with  them  in  a 
quiet,  semi-invalid  sort  of  way — an  early  simple 
supper,  and  someone  to  tell  us  not  to  stay  too  long 
for  fear  of  tiring  Jim  or  Mary. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Mary  drove  her  own  motor 
up  to  the  hotel  ten  minutes  after  we  arrived,  and, 
119 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

telling  us  of  half  a  dozen  engagements  that  she 
had  made  for  us,  including  a  dinner  that  she  was 
giving  that  evening,  wanted  us  to  come  out  to  polo 
then  and  there. 

Hadn't  she  better  rest?    Not  a  bit  of  it! 

Instead  of  the  invalid  regimen  that  we  expected 
to  fall  into,  we  were  kept  going  at  a  pace  we  could 
scarcely  catch  up  with.  We  dined  in  extrava- 
gantly appointed  houses,  lunched  on  terraces  over- 
looking gardens,  danced  into  the  first  hours  of  the 
morning,  and  led  the  life  typical  of  any  fashion- 
able pleasure  resort.  Of  invalidism  there  was,  on 
the  surface,  not  a  trace.  Mary  herself  had  come 

out  a  few  years  ago  very  ill,  and  Jim  and  L , 

two  men  who  had  been  sent  away  from  home  in  an 
almost  dying  condition,  seemed  quite  as  unlike  in- 
valids as  Mary.  L has  a  beautiful  house,  run 

exactly  as  his  establishment  in  Newport  used  to 
be,  and  he  leads  much  the  same  life  that  he  used 
to  lead  there.  Motoring  takes  the  place  of  yacht- 
ing; he  plays  poker,  polo,  and  golf,  and  dines 
rather  much,  wines  rather  more,  and  has  changed 
not  at  all. 

Jim,  not  because  he  is  different,  but  only  because 
he  is  less  rich,  lives  in  a  little  bungalow  in  Broad- 
moor.  Instead  of  three  or  four  footmen  standing 
in  the  hall,  as  in  L.'s  house,  Jim  lives  alone 
with  a  Jap  boy  who  is  cook,  butler,  valet,  house- 
maid and  nurse  combined,  but  he  gave  us  a  deli- 
cious luncheon  to  which  he  had  asked  a  few  of  his 
neighbors. 

120 


THE  CITY  OF  RECKLESSNESS 

''They  all  have  t.b.,"  he  whispered,  otherwise 
we  should  never  have  known  it. 

After  lunch  he  showed  me  his  sleeping-porch. 
Nothing  unusual  in  that;  everyone  has  a  fad  for 
sleeping  out  of  doors  nowadays.  He  did,  however, 
happen  to  mention  that  his  Jap  boy  was  bully 
whenever  he  was  ill,  but  it  was  only  in  his  almost 
emotional  gladness  to  see  us,  his  wistful  eagerness 
for  every  small  detail  of  news  from  home  that  I 
caught  a  suspicion  of  what  might  once  have 
been  homesickness.  Perhaps  I  only  imagined  that 
faint  suspicion.  Certainly  he  seemed  cheerful 
and  happy  and  spoke  of  himself  as  a  "  busted 
lunger"  as  lightly  as  he  might  have  said  he  was 
six  feet  two  inches  tall !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  his 
"busted  lungs"  are  pretty  well  mended — for  so 
long  as  he  stays  out  here.  Later  we  heard  that 
there  was  likely  to  be  a  wedding  between  Jim  and 
the  young  quite-lately  widow  who  sat  opposite  him 
at  table.  She  happily  is  not  a  member  of  the  t.b. 
fraternity,  but  came  out  some  years  ago  with  a 
dying  husband. 

"What  an  old  fox  you  are!  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me  about  her?"  I  said  to  him  afterward.  He 
grinned  until  he  looked  almost  idiotically  foolish ; 
then  he  exclaimed : 

"Isn't  she  wonderful?"  and  he  squeezed  my 
hand  as  though  I  and  not  he  had  made  the  remark. 

Besides  the  conspicuous  and  palatial  homes  that 
one  associates  instinctively  with  Broadmoor,  there 
are  a  few  little  bungalows,  each  with  its  sleeping- 
121 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

porch,  a  living-room,  dining-room  and  a  bedroom 
or  two.  There  are  also,  in  Colorado  Springs  it- 
self, many  boarding-houses,  and  in  both  of  these 
the  people  do  live  very  simply  and  follow  more  or 
less  the  prescribed  life  of  a  health  resort.  But  in 
the  general  impression  of  Colorado  Springs,  one 
might  imagine  oneself  in  a  second  Newport,  Monte 
Carlo,  or  Simla  in  India.  Not  that  any  of  these 
places  bear  much  physical  resemblance  to  the 
heart  of  the  Kocky  Mountains,  especially  Simla, 
yet  this  last  is  suggested  most  of  all.  The  con- 
ditions are  much  the  same  in  that  the  people  are 
there  because  they  have  been  ordered  to  be,  rather 
than  because  it  is  a  home  they  have  themselves 
chosen.  In  India  the  people  can't  do  very  much 
because  the  climate  is  too  enervating ;  in  Colorado 
the  people  can 't  do  very  much  because  their  health 
is  too  uncertain.  In  both  places  there  is  an  under- 
lying recklessness  of  attitude,  of  wanting  to  get  all 
the  fun  out  of  their  enforced  extradition  that  they 
can;  and  the  "fun"  consists  in  both  places  in  rid- 
ing, driving,  playing,  or  watching  polo  or  tennis, 
flirting  and  gambling.  The  latter  two  are  the  favo- 
rites, as  they  afford  the  most  diversion  for  the 
least  physical  effort.  The  Anglo-Indians  plunge 
into  whatever  form  of  amusement  offers  because 
the  place  would  be  deadly  otherwise;  the  Colo- 
radoites  lead  as  gay  a  life  as  health  will  permit 
and  ingenuity  devise,  because  the  deadliness  may 
at  any  time  be  earnest.  '  *  Eat,  drink  and  be  merry, 

for  tomorrow "  was  never  more  thoroughly 

122 


THE  CITY  OF  RECKLESSNESS 

lived  up  to,  even  in  the  time  of  the  ancients  who 
originated  the  adage.  Anything  for  excitement, 
anything  for  amusement,  anything  not  to  realize 
that  life  is  not  as  gay  as  it  seems ! 

Death  is  the  one  word  never  mentioned.  If  by 
chance  they  speak  of  one  who  has  gone,  they  say 
he  has  "crossed  the  great  divide. "  If  someone 
leaves  to  go  home  hopelessly,  the  women  say  good- 
by  as  casually  as  they  can ;  a  few  men  at  the  club 
drink  to  him — once.  That  is  all.  They  are  people 
facing  the  grim  specter  always,  yet  never  allow- 
ing their  eyes  to  see.  Personally  I  should  have 
had  no  inkling  of  the  sadder  side;  I  should  have 
taken  everything  at  its  happy  face  value  had  it 
not  been  for  one  awakening  incident. 

I  was  sitting  in  the  wide,  cheerfully  homelike 
hall  of  the  Antlers  Hotel  when  the  people  from  an 
arriving  train  came  in.  Among  perhaps  a  dozen 
indiscriminate  tourists  one  in  particular  at- 
tracted my  attention  and  interest.  He  was  little 
more  than  a  boy — twenty-two  perhaps  or  twenty- 
three — good-looking,  well-bred,  and  well  off  if  one 
might  judge  of  these  things  by  his  manner  and  ap- 
pearance, and  the  pigskin  bags,  golf  clubs,  polo 
mallets  and  other  paraphernalia  that  two  porters 
were  carrying  in  his  wake. 

"There's  a  lucky  young  person,"  I  thought, 
"evidently  fond  of  sport  and  with  the  ability, 
wealth  and  leisure  to  gratify  his  taste."  I  saw 
him  register  and  give  a  stack  of  extra  baggage 
checks  to  the  clerk,  and  then  on  his  way  to  the 
123 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

elevator  he  passed  close  to  me.  He  was  moder- 
ately tall  with  a  graceful,  well-built  frame,  but 
his  step  lagged  and  his  shoulders  drooped,  and 
in  his  drawn  face  I  caught  a  lost,  helpless,  despair- 
ing expression  that  I  recognized  unmistakably. 
Near  where  I  often  go  in  the  autumn  is  a  boys' 
school  and  I  have  seen  little  new  boys  on  the  first 
evening  of  their  arrival  look  just  so — livid  and 
lost,  poor  little  chaps — but  you  know  that  in  a  day 
or  two  they  will  be  running  about  as  happy  as 
grigs  in  the  excitement  of  school  events  and  the 
exhilaration  of  football.  But  the  look  in  my  '  *  for- 
tunate" youth's  face  went  deeper  and  an  illumi- 
nating word  flashed  to  my  mind:  life  termer! 
Homesick?  He  looked  as  though  he  would  die 
of  it. 

A  moment  before  the  big  splendidly  kept  hotel 
with  its  broad  white  hallways,  wide  verandas  and 
sunny  terrace  under  the  very  shoulder  of  Pike's 
Peak,  rising  in  snow-crowned  glory  above  all  the 
lesser  glorious  mountains,  had  seemed  so  beauti- 
ful. Suddenly,  though,  I  saw  it  not  merely  with 
the  eyes  of  one  broken-hearted,  homesick  youth, 
but  with  some  realization  of  the  thousands  of  tear- 
filled  eyes  that  have  looked  about  its  common- 
place stations.  What  must  it  be  like  to  be  weak 
and  ill,  when  the  strongest  clings  like  a  little  child 
to  the  ones  he  loves  best,  and  then  to  be  sent  far 
away  to  live  always,  or  to  die,  perhaps,  among 
strangers  ? 

After  this  I  became  more  observing  of  the  lives 
124 


THE  CITY  OF  RECKLESSNESS 

about  us,  and  people  told  me  many  things — quite 
simply,  as  though  it  were  all  in  the  day's  work. 
The  greatest  number  who  are  sent  out  here  are 
young,  and  strapping  athletes  are  the  most  usual 
type.  Sometimes  they  get  well  soon,  and  go  back 
happily  to  their  families;  sometimes  their  fami- 
lies move  out  too,  and  in  that  way  bring  "home" 
with  them,  but  the  majority  come  and  stay  alone, 
and  never  leave  again  except  for  short  annual 
furloughs.  One  of  these  latter  lives  here  at  the 
hotel.  A  friend  of  his  told  me  that ' '  Harry  could 
never  go  home,  poor  chap,"  but  the  adverb 
"poor"  scarcely  seemed  to  qualify  that  young 
man  from  what  I  saw  of  him.  He  is  always  laugh- 
ing, always  shoving  his  shoulders  through  the 
atmosphere;  inquisitive  as  Ricki-ticki  and  quite 
as  full  of  life  and  vim;  he  seems  ready  to  seize 
every  opportunity  of  hazard  or  engagement  that 
the  moment  offers.  He  plays  all  games  recklessly ; 
the  more  dangerous  as  to  stakes  or  excitement,  the 
better.  He  drives  a  powerful  motor-car  and  he 
is  flirting  outrageously  with  one  of  the  prettiest 
women  imaginable,  whose  invalid  husband  seems 
to  care  very  little  how  much  attention  she  accepts 
from  her  frivolous  though  ardent  admirer. 

But  a  little  while  ago  I  was  in  my  window  and 
he  was  on  the  terrace  just  below,  close  enough  for 
me  to  see  him  without  his  seeing  me.  His  face 
was  turned  toward  the  glory  of  the  snow-capped 
mountains  but  his  unseeing  eyes  too,  had  the  exact 
look  of  the  little  homesick  boys  at  school.  I  saw 
125 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

then  why  his  friend  had  called  him  "poor  chap" 
and  I  also  a  little  better  understood  the  exaggera- 
tion of  his  recklessness,  the  over-swagger  of  his 
shoulders,  the  laugh  and  flippancy  with  which,  like 
Jim,  he  speaks  of  "t.b."  I  wonder  if  anywhere  in 
the  world  the  moon  looks  down  upon  more  tear- 
stained  pillows  than  here! 

And  this  is  enough  of  the  black  side  of  the  pic- 
ture— the  blackest  side  there  is.  For  by  no  means 
all  of  the  people  are  homesick,  unhappy  or  in  any 
way  ill.  Families  who  have  come  out  originally 
for  the  sake  of  a  sick  member  have  stayed  because 
they  loved  the  place  and  made  it  their  home.  And 
of  the  others,  many  who  have  been  lonely  and 
homesick  at  first  have  found  the  place  an  Eden 
because  they  have  also  found  the  ' '  one  in  all  the 
world." 

In  fact,  meeting  the  "one"  is  the  almost  in- 
evitable thing  they  do.  Supposing  the  newcomers 
live  in  little  bungalows  in  Broadmoor;  oppor- 
tunity need  go  no  further.  He,  for  instance,  sits 
on  his  little  porch  in  the  sunshine,  and  she  sits  on 
her  little  porch  across  the  way.  Hours  and  hours 
and  days  and  days,  they  sit  on  their  little  porches 
in  the  sunshine.  Then  by  and  by  they  sit  together 
on  the  same  little  porch.  It  is  quite  simple. 

Often  the  story  ends  as  it  should.  They  get 
well  and  marry  and  live  happy  ever  afterward. 
Sometimes,  of  course,  it  ends  sadly.  But  nearly 
always  love  brings  its  compensation  of  joy,  and 
nearly  all  who  have  ever  lived  out  here  keep  af  ter- 
126 


THE  CITY  OF  RECKLESSNESS 

ward  in  their  hearts  an  unfading  flower  of  ro- 
mance. 

Colorado  Springs  is  a  place  unique  in  the  world. 
Filled  with  people  unhappy  to  come,  deserted  by 
people  unwilling  to  go.  And  nearly  always  their 
coming  and  going  is  through  no  wish  or  will  of 
their  own.  Sometimes  their  going  is  as  sudden 
and  tragic  as  their  coming. 

A  friend  of  ours  whom  we  had  expected  to  find 
out  here  had  only  the  week  before  been  obliged  to 
pack  up  on  a  few  hours '  notice  and  go  to  Califor- 
nia. She  had  just  built  a  new  house  and  had  been 
in  it  hardly  two  months  and  now  she  has  to  begin 
in  a  new  environment  all  over  again.  The  great 
tragedy  in  this  case  is  that  the  husband  cannot 
stay  long  away  from  a  high  altitude  and  the  wife 
must  probably  always  live  at  a  low  one. 

Of  the  fashionable  element  in  the  Springs  a  cer- 
tain elderly  lady  told  me  with  bated  breath : 

"It  is  the  fastest  society  on  earth!  They  just 
live  for  excitement,  and  they  don 't  attend  church 
half  as  regularly  as  they  go  to  each  other's  houses 
to  dance  or  gamble.  If  you  see  a  woman  out  walk- 
ing or  driving  with  a  man,  it's  more  likely  another 
woman's  husband  than  her  own.  My  dear,  you 
may  call  such  a  state  of  affairs  modern  and  up 
to  date,  but  I  call  it  shocking — that's  what  I  call 
it!" 

She,  dear  soul,  is  from  Salem,  Massachusetts, 
and  I  can  well  believe  that  she  thinks  as  she  spoke. 
There  is  also  a  younger  woman,  the  wife  of  a  pros- 
127 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

perous  manufacturer  whose  home  is  in  Omaha. 
The  old  lady  from  Salem  I  had  known  in  York 
Harbor,  Maine,  but  the  Omaha  lady  we  "picked 
up  an  acquaintance  with"  through  the  offices  of 
E.  M.  in  saving  the  life  of  an  attenuated  specimen 
of  a  dog  from  the  grip  of  one  whose  looks  were 
more  flattering  to  the  species. 

Apparently  the  old  lady  and  the  younger  one 
sit  and  exchange  opinions  all  day,  a  rather  need- 
less effort,  as  they  share  the  same  in  the  first 
place.  At  almost  any  hour  that  you  pass  them 
the  old  lady  is  saying : 

"My  dear,  that  is  Mrs.  Smith  talking  to  Mr. 
Baldwin!" 

And  the  younger,  aghast,  echoes,  "Well,  who'd 
have  thot  it ! "  ("  Thot "  is  not  a  misprint,  that  is 
the  way  she  pronounces  it.)  And  then  in  unison 
they  wonder  where  Mr.  Smith  can  be  and  why  Mrs. 
Baldwin  is  not  out  walking  with  her  husband. 

The  point  of  view  of  the  old  lady  and  the 
younger  one  represent  not  unfairly  the  attitude  of 
the  majority  of  wives  in  the  two  thousand  miles 
we  had  come  through  since  leaving  the  corner  of 
Fifty-ninth  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 
An  opposed  attitude  jumps  from  Central  Park 
East  to  Colorado  Springs.  Central  Park  West  is 
curiously  like  the  gap  between.  On  Fifth  Avenue 
and  South  and  East  and  again  in  Colorado 
Springs  a  wife  does  not  believe  the  happiness  of 
family  life  dependent  upon  her  husband's  never 
speaking  to  another  woman  but  herself.  More 
128 


THE  CITY  OF  RECKLESSNESS 

often  is  the  shoe  on  the  other  foot.  The  husband 
generally  goes  from  his  office  to  his  club,  the  wife 
more  than  likely  goes  with  an  agreeable  young 
man  to  a  dancing  tea.  Parlor  Snake  is  the  New 
York  vernacular  for  the  ideal  type  of  a  five-o  'clock 
young  man !  Once  west  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  for 
two  thousand  miles  thereafter  nothing  like  this  at 
all !  For  Mr.  X.  to  cross  the  threshold  of  Mrs.  B.  's 
house  unless  accompanied  by  Mrs.  X — and  some- 
times several  little  X.'s — would  be  just  cause  for 
storms  and  tears,  if  not  for  divorce.  Even  we  as 
strangers  could  see  wives  trailing  like  veritable 
shadows  behind  their  husbands.  Let  Mr.  X.  stop 
for  a  second  to  speak  to  any  Mrs.  W.,  Y.  or  Z.  and 
Mrs.  X.  sidles  up  and  clings  to  husband's  sleeve 
as  though  a  few  sentences  uttered  apart  from  a 
general  conversation  were  affronts  upon  the  se- 
curity and  dignity  of  a  wife. 

In  the  small  circle  of  Chicago's  smart  set  this 
wifely  attitude  of  "speak  to  him  not;  he  is  mine" 
is  certainly  not  apparent.  A  very  opposite  atti- 
tude, however,  is  very  noticeable  in  Colorado 
Springs  where  a  perfectly  adoring  wife  said  to  Ce- 
lia,  who  is  one  of  the  most  attractive  women  im- 
aginable: "For  Heaven's  sake,  do  take  Fred  out 
on  the  veranda  and  talk  to  him ;  he  has  been  here 
two  years  without  seeing  a  new  face,  and  scarcely 
anyone  to  talk  to  about  home  but  me ! ' ' 

Just  how  the  pioneers  and  cowboys  affect  the 
place  is  hard  to  define,  and  yet  they  undoubtedly 
do.  Colorado  people  love  the  very  name  "cow- 
129 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

boy"  with  an  almost  personal  sentiment,  just  as, 
in  their  love  for  them,  they  seem  personally  to  ap- 
propriate the  "mountains,"  and  from  "both,  in 
spite  of  the  luxury  which  many  have  brought  from 
Europe  or  the  Atlantic  coast,  and  in  contrast  to 
their  mere  recklessness,  they  have  acquired  di- 
rectness of  outlook,  fearless,  open-air  customs  of 
living,  and  an  unhampered  freedom  from  unim- 
portant trifles.  The  spirit  of  going  through  with 
what  you  undertake  and  not  being  stopped  by  a 
little  mud  that  we  first  met  with  in  Bochelle  is 
here  much  intensified.  In  Illinois  they  prided 
themselves  on  surmounting  obstacles;  out  here 
they  are  so  imbued  with  the  attitude  of  the  men 
who  live  out  on  the  plains  and  through  the  moun- 
tains— the  pioneers  whose  adventures  the  most 
frivolous  social  leader  knows  by  heart — that  they 
don't  even  recognize  an  obstacle  when  they  see 
it. 

Notwithstanding  the  luxury  of  his  own  house, 
L.  goes  off  into  the  wilderness  generally  with  one 
guide  but  sometimes  entirely  alone,  sleeps  on  the 
ground,  eats  what  he  can  kill  and  reverts  to  the 
primitive.  And  you  can  sit  in  a  room  the  interior 
of  which  might  be  in  the  Palace  of  Versailles  and 
hear  your  hostess  in  a  two-hundred-dollar  simplic- 
ity of  chiffon  and  lace  repeat  to  you  by  the  hour 
stories  beginning:  "Bill  Simpson,  who  was  punch- 
ing cattle  on  the  staked  plains "  or  "The 

Apaches  were  on  the  warpath  and  Kit  Car- 
son  "  Possibly  even  she  may  tell  you  of  a 

130 


THE  CITY  OF  RECKLESSNESS 

hold-up  adventure  of  her  own  when  as  a  child  she 
was  traveling  in  the  Denver  stage. 

One  amusing  anecdote  told  us  one  afternoon  at 
tea  was  of  a  celebrated  plainsman  who,  carrying 
a  large  amount  of  money  and  realizing  that  he  was 
about  to  be  held  up,  quickly  stuffed  his  roll  of 
money  down  his  trouser  leg,  but  craftily  left  two 
dollars  in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  The  outlaws  find- 
ing him  so  ill  supplied  with  * '  grub  money ' '  made 
him  a  present  of  a  dollar  to  show  him  that  he  had 
met  with  real  gentlemen. 

Perhaps  from  habit,  just  as  when  someone  says, 
* l  How  are  you  ? ' '  you  say, ' '  Very  well,  thank  you, ' ' 
though  you  may  be  feeling  wretchedly,  whenever 
anyone  mentions  the  topic  of  motoring,  I  find  my- 
self saying : 

' '  Can  you  tell  me  anything  about  the  roads  be- 
tween here  and ?"  Why  I  keep  on  asking 

about  the  roads  I  really  don 't  know !  Hearing  that 
they  are  good  or  bad  is  not  going  to  help  or  hin- 
der. I  think  I  must  do  it  for  the  sake  of  being 
sociable  and  making  conversation.  So,  sitting 
next  to  one  of  the  prominent  members  of  the  Auto- 
mobile Club,  yesterday,  I  found  myself  quite 
parrotlike  asking  for  details  of  the  road  to 
Albuquerque. 

"With  good  brakes,  and  an  experienced  chauf- 
feur who  won't  get  flustered  or  light-headed,  you 
oughtn't  to  have  much  trouble.  You  will  find 
teams  nearly  always  available  to  pull  you  through 
dangerous  fords,"  he  said  casually. 
131 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

Having  ourselves  withstood  the  mud  of  Iowa 
without  injury  and  survived  the  perils  of  the 
Platte  River  Valley  without  meeting  any,  we  find 
ourselves  as  commonplace  as  anyone  who  had 
crossed  Long  Island  would  be  to  New  Yorkers. 
These  people  out  here  talk  about  being  hauled 
through  quicksand  streams,  or  of  clinging  along 
shelf  roads  at  the  edge  of  a  thousand-foot  drop  as 
though  it  were  pleasant  afternoon  driving.  I 
don't  like  the  sound  of  the  word  "  shelf  " — why  not 
by  calling  them  mountain-view  roads  let  us  keep 
our  tranquillity  at  least  until  we  get  to  them?  And 
beyond  the  precipices  is  the  desert,  where  there 
is  no  place  to  stop  over  and  Heaven  alone  knows 
what  fate  awaiting  us  should  anything  happen 
to  the  car. 

My  companion  at  luncheon  volunteered  further 
that  he  had  unluckily  never  been  farther  south 
than  Pueblo  himself,  but  he  knew  a  drug  clerk  who 
was  the  highest  authority  on  road  information. 
Information  and  ice-cream  soda  at  the  same  time 
was  a  combination  too  alluring  to  be  resisted,  and 
an  hour  later  saw  me  thirsting  at  the  fountain. 
The  soda  clerk  called  to  another  out  of  sight  be- 
hind the  drug  screen: 

"Say,  Bill,  there's  a  lady  here  wants  to  start  for 
Albuquerque  tomorrow.  Do  you  know  anybody 
that's  gone  over  the  Baton  lately?" 

A  long,  lanky,  typical  "Uncle  Sam,"  sauntered 
in  eating  a  stick  of  peppermint. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  drawled,  "Bullard  went  down. 
132 


THE  CITY  OF  RECKLESSNESS 

I  guess  he  went  with  a  team  though ;  it  was  about 
a  month  ago.  But  Tracey  went  last  week  and  took 
his  bride  on  their  wedding-trip.  Of  course, " 
he  turned  to  me,  '  *  Tracey  is  a  big  man.  Used  to 
work  on  the  freight  depot.  He  bought  a  good 
manila  towline  and  he  is  as  strong  as  an  ox. 
He  could  haul  his  machine  out  of  anything,  I 
guess." 

At  this  point  an  outsider  entered ;  he  was  labeled 
from  head  to  toe  with  prosperity,  expensive 
clothes,  diamond  rings — one  on  the  third  finger  of 
each  hand — a  diamond  scarfpin,  a  breezy  air  of 
"here-I-am"  self-confidence.  He  seemed  to  be  a 
friend  of  the  drug  clerk's  and  he  ordered  a  malted 
milk  and  sat  on  the  stool  next  to  me.  Immediately 
the  clerk  who  had  been  called  "Bill"  appealed  to 
him. 

'  *  This  lady  is  going  down  to  New  Mexico.  Do 
you  know  anything  about  the  Eaton  Pass  ? ' ' 

"Do  I  know  anything  about  Eaton?  I  was  born 
there ! ' '  Then  he  laughed  and  turned  to  me : ' '  You 
needn't  tell  anybody  though.  Want  to  know  about 
Eaton?  Well,  I'll  tell  you,  they  have  no  streets, 
and  they  have  no  drainage,  and  when  it  rains  the 
mud  is  so  soft  you  can  go  out  in  a  boat  and  sail 
from  house  to  house!  There's  just  a  Santa  Fe 
roundhouse  and  a  bunch  of  cottages.  Oh,  it's  the 
road  over  the  Pass  you  want  to  know  about? ' '  He 
stirred  his  baby  beverage.  "Well,  they  say  they 
have  fixed  the  road  up  some  since  I  was  down  there 
but  I  guess  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  let  your 
133 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

chauffeur  take  the  automobile  down,  and  you  walk 
behind  it  with  the  wreath ! ' ' 

But  somehow  these  alarms  no  longer  terrify! 
Are  we,  too,  being  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the 
West?  Forgetting  that  our  original  intention  was 
to  motor  only  so  far  as  we  could  travel  comfort- 
ably, we  can  now  think  of  nothing  but  that  we  have 
arrived  merely  at  the  gateway  of  the  land  of  ad- 
venture, where  cowboys,  prairie  schooners,  and 
Indians  may  possibly  still  be  found ! 

The  Honorable  Geoffrey  G.,  an  Englishman 
whom  we  met  in  New  York  last  year,  says  he  is  go- 
ing with  us  as  far  as  Santa  Fe.  He  has  just  im- 
ported a  brand-new  little  foreign  car  and  is  as 
proud  as  Punch  over  it.  It  is  even  lower  hung 
than  ours,  and  has  a  very  delicate  mechanism.  He 
drives  it  apparently  well,  but  from  various  re- 
marks he  has  made  I  don't  believe  he  knows  the 
first  thing  about  machinery. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WEST  THAT  WAS 

WE  might  have  been  taking  an  unconscious 
part  in  some  vast  moving  picture  produc- 
tion, or,  more  easily  still,  if  we  over- 
looked the  fact  of  our  own  motor  car,  we  could 
have  supposed  ourselves  crossing  the  plains  in 
the  days  of  the  caravans  and  stage  coaches,  when 
roads  were  trails,  arid  bridges  were  not ! 

To  Pueblo  by  way  of  Canyon  City  and  over  the 
Eoyal  Gorge  loop,  you  go  through  great  denies 
between  gigantic  mountains,  then  out  on  a  shelf 
road  overlooking  now  vistas  of  mountains,  now 
endless  plains,  now  hanging  over  chasms  two  or 
three  thousand  feet  deep,  now  dipping  down, 
down  to  the  brink  of  the  river  tearing  along  the 
base  of  the  canyon  walls.  All  of  the  mountain 
roads  of  Colorado  are  splendidly  built — even 
though  some  of  their  railless  edges  are  terrifying 
to  anyone  light  of  head,  and  by  no  means  to  be 
recommended  to  an  inexpert  driver.  One  famous- 
ly beautiful  drive  has  a  turntable  built  at  an  oth- 
erwise impossibly  sharp  bend. 

After  Pueblo — which  by  the  way  is  not  in  the 
least  quaint  or  Indian  as  its  name  promised,  but  a 
smoky  and  smeltering  industrious  little  Pitts- 
135 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

burgh — you  come  out  upon  the  plains,  plains  that 
look  as  you  imagined  them,  on  which  cattle  and 
cowboys  ranged  and  prairie  schooners  came  slow- 
ly over  the  horizon.  A  few  miles  beyond  Pueblo, 
exactly  like  a  scene  in  the  moving  pictures,  we 
passed  three  of  the  white-topped  wagons,  their 
hoods  rocking  and  gleaming  in  the  sun  and  little 
burros  with  saddles  on  them  trotting  on  either 
side.  A  man  walked  at  the  head  of  the  caravan 
and  two  others  walked  behind.  One  wagon  was 
driven  by  a  woman,  while  a  man  slept,  and  two 
children  peered  out  at  us  from  within.  A  young 
man  drove  the  second  wagon;  by  his  side  was  a 
young  woman  holding  a  baby.  All  that  was 
needed  to  make  a  frontier  drama  was  a  band  of 
befeathered  Indians  on  the  warpath. 

A  little  way  farther  we  saw  a  cowboy  galloping 
over  the  plains  swinging  a  lariat.  He  laughed 
when  we  came  up  to  him,  as  though  he  had  been 
caught  doing  something  foolish.  In  the  next  few 
miles  we  passed  another  caravan  and  through  a 
herd  of  cattle  driven  by  three  cowboys,  but  not  a 
sign  of  our  friend,  the  Englishman,  with  whom  we 
had  planned  to  lunch.  He,  having  taken  the  di- 
rect road,  which  was  about  sixty  miles  or  so 
shorter  than  ours,  had  agreed  to  select  an  attrac- 
tive spot  and  wait  for  us.  We  had  about  decided 
that  he  had  either  been  lost  or  overlooked,  when 
we  saw  a  team  coming  toward  us  and  behind  it, 
being  towed,  his  nice,  new,  little  car.  He  had  come 
to  a  ford  through  a  wide,  swift  river  which  he  so 
136 


GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WEST  THAT  WAS 

mistrusted  from  the  start  that  he  made  his  valet 
wade  across  it  first.  But  as  the  water  came  up 
only  to  the  man's  knees,  and  the  bottom  was  re- 
ported to  be  firm  and  pebbly,  the  Honorable  Geof- 
frey plunged  in — and,  bang!  she  blew  up!  The 
water  flooding  his  carburetor  sucked  into  the  hot 
cylinders  and  was  changed  so  violently  into  steam 
that  it  blew  off  the  cylinder  heads ! 

Mixed  with  our  very  real  sympathy  with  the 
Englishman  was  not  a  little  doubt  as  to  whether 
we  had  better  risk  a  like  fate.  The  driver  of  the 
team,  seeing  our  doubt,  explained:  "The  river 's 
a  mite  high  just  now,  but  when  you  come  to  the 
bank,  just  go  in  slow  and  steady,  and  if  the  water 
comes  up  too  high,  stop  your  engine  quick,  and 
fire  a  revolver!  See!  I'll  hear  you  and  send 
someone  to  pull  you  through ! " 

The  thought  of  luncheon  had  vanished.  We 
parted  with  our  unfortunate  friend  and  ap- 
proached with  not  a  little  trepidation  the  rushing 
waters  that  had  wrecked  him.  The  river  looked 
formidable  enough;  wide,  swift,  bubbling,  and 
opaque — like  coffee  with  cream,  exactly.  We  re- 
membered that  it  had  a  gravel  bottom  and  that  its 
greatest  depth  was  very  little  over  the  drenched 
valet's  knees. 

We  went  in  very  cautiously,  very  slowly,  the 
water  came  up  and  up,  almost  to  the  floor  boards. 
The  rest  of  the  story  is  perfectly  tame  and  flat; 
our  car  went  through  it  like  a  duck ! 

Further  on,  we  came  to  several  fords,  all  small 
137 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

and  shallow,  and  we  splashed  through  them  glee- 
fully. We  passed  great  herds  of  cattle  and  any 
number  of  cowboys.  We  saw  hundreds  of  gophers, 
ran  our  wheels  over  two  rattlesnakes,  and  escaped 
— one  skunk. 

In  Trinidad  we  ran  across  our  first  companion 
motor  tourists.  "Kansas  City  to  Los  Angeles" 
was  written  in  letters  six  inches  high  with  an 
American  pennant  on  one  side,  and  the  name  of  a 
popular  machine  on  the  other.  Another  car,  a 
Ford,  announcing  that  it  was  bound  from  Lincoln, 
Nebraska,  to  San  Francisco,  had  enough  banners 
to  decorate  the  room  of  a  schoolboy.  The  owners 
of  these  two  talked  volubly  on  touring  in  general 
and  the  roads  ahead  in  particular.  The  owner  of 
the  Ford,  adjusting  the  vizor  of  his  yachting  cap 
and  pulling  on  his  gauntlets,  looked  at  us  doubt- 
fully. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "everyone  to  his  own  liking! 
I  myself  prefer  a  shorter,  lighter  car!" 

"Are  you  going  to  try  to  take  that  machine 
down  the  Bajada?"  asked  the  other.  "I'm  glad  I 
haven't  the  job  of  driving  her  even  over  the  Ea- 
ton!" 

"My,  but  she's  a  peach!"  exclaimed  an  enthu- 
siastic mechanic.  "Don't  you  have  no  fear,  mis- 
ter ! "  he  whispered  to  E.  M.  "  The  stage  coaches 
they  used  to  go  over  this  road  to  Santa  Fe ;  if  they 
could  get  over,  I  guess  you  can ! ' ' 

It  had  never  occurred  to  us  that  we  couldn't, 
but  the  reminder  of  the  lumbering  caravans  was 
138 


GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WEST  THAT  WAS 

comforting,  and  we  started  tranquilly  to  climb  the 
Colorado  side  of  the  Eaton  divide.  We  passed 
first  one,  and  then  the  other  of  the  two  cars,  whose 
owners  had  little  opinion  of  ours.  Did  they  be- 
lieve their  ugly  snub-nosed  tin  kettles,  panting  and 
puffing  and  chug-chugging  up  the  grade,  like  asth- 
matic King  Charles  spaniels,  better  hill-climbers 
than  our  beautiful,  big,  long  engine,  that  took  the 
ascent  without  the  slightest  loss  of  breath  even  in 
the  almost  nine  thousand  feet  of  altitude?  We 
had  looked  at  the  two  machines  in  much  the  same 
way  that  passengers  in  the  cab  of  a  locomotive 
might  look  at  a  country  cart  trundling  along  the 
road,  for  we  had  pulled  smoothly  by  them  in  much 
the  same  way  that  the  locomotive  passes  the  cart. 

We  have  all  heard  the  story  of  the  hare  and  the 
tortoise,  and  the  old  adage,  "He  who  laughs 
last "  It  was  all  very  well  as  long  as  we  re- 
mained in  the  state  of  Colorado !  But  the  instant 
we  crossed  the  Divide,  our  beautiful  great,  long, 
powerful  machine  lay  down  perfectly  flat  on  its 
stomach  and  could  not  budge  until  one  of  these  de- 
spised snub-nosed  spaniels  heaped  coals  of  fire 
on  our  heads  by  kindly  pulling  us  out. 

Because  of  their  highness — one  of  the  chief  at- 
tributes of  their  ugliness — the  other  two  cars 
could  under  the  present  conditions  travel  along 
without  hindrance,  whereas  we  discovered  to  our 
chagrin  that  we  had  far  too  little  clearance,  and 
the  first  venturing  into  New  Mexico  ruts  held  us 
fast. 

139 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

The  road  over  the  Eaton  Pass,  by  the  way,  was 
originally  built  by  a  famous  character  known  as 
"Uncle"  Dick  Wooten.  Having  defrayed  all  the 
expenses  out  of  his  own  pocket  he  established  a 
tollgate  so  that  he  might  somewhat  reimburse 
himself.  The  American  traders  paid  the  toll  with- 
out a  murmur ;  the  Mexicans  paid  only  through  the 
persuasion  of  a  revolver,  and  the  Indians  would 
not  pay  at  all.  After  going  over  the  road  we 
agreed  with  the  Indians. 

The  rest  of  our  story  all  the  way  to  Santa  Fe 
is  one  long  wail.  But  in  justice  to  the  roads  of 
New  Mexico,  it  is  necessary  to  go  into  some  ex- 
planation of  the  wherefore  of  our  particular  diffi- 
culties. In  the  first  place  we  went  out  there  in  the 
very  early  spring  after  the  worst  of  the  thaw, 
but  before  any  repairs,  which  might  have  been 
made  for  the  summer  season,  had  been  begun.  As 
for  equipment,  ours  could  not  by  any  possibility 
have  been  worse. 

With  a  wheel  base  of  one  hundred  and  forty- 
four  inches,  our  car  has  a  center  clearance  of  only 
eight  inches!  Furthermore,  we  have  a  big  steel 
exhaust  pipe  that  slants  from  ten  inches  above  the 
ground  under  the  engine  to  eight  and  one-half 
inches  above  the  ground  where  it  protrudes  be- 
hind the  left  rear  wheel.  Therefore,  where 
shorter,  higher  cars  can  go  with  perfect  ease,  it 
requires  great  skill  and  no  little  ingenuity  for  a 
very  low  and  long  one  to  keep  clear  of  trouble. 
For  instance,  over  deep-rutted  roads  we  have 
140 


GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WEST  THAT  WAS 

to  stay  balanced  on  the  ridges  on  either  side, 
like  walking  a  sort  of  double  tight  rope;  if 
we  slide  down  into  the  rut,  we  have  to  be  jacked 
up  and  a  bridge  of  stones  put  under  to  lift  us 
out  again.  On  many  of  the  sharp  corners  of 
the  mountain  passes  we  have  to  back  and  fill  two 
and  often  four  times,  but  our  real  difficul- 
ties are  all  because  of  that  troublesome  exhaust 
pipe. 

Out  on  the  cattle  ranches  they  build  a  great 
many  queer  little  ditch  crossings;  two  planks  of 
wood  with  edges  like  troughs,  and  a  wheel-width 
apart.  They  are  our  particular  horror.  Again, 
right  wheels  went  over  perfectly,  but  the  only 
way  we  can  get  the  left  ones  over  is  to  build  up 
the  hollows  with  pieces  of  wood — some  barrel 
staves  we  found  by  luck  and  that  we  now  always 
carry  with  us. 

Another  particular  joy  to  us  is  sliding  down  into 
and  clambering  out  of  arroyos,  on  the  edge  of 
which  the  car  loves  to  make  believe  it  is  a  seesaw. 
Our  only  good  fortune  seems  to  be  in  having  plen- 
ty of  power,  and  the  carburetor  high  enough  not 
to  be  flooded — as  yet — by  any  streams  we  have 
gone  through.  Once,  in  order  to  find  a  bank  that 
we  could  crawl  up  on,  we  had  to  wade  up  the 
stream,  with  the  possibility  of  quicksand,  for 
nearly  half  a  mile. 

After  three  days  of  this  sort  of  experience,  you 
can't  help  wincing  at  the  very  sight  of  ruts  or 
rocks  or  river  beds,  in  exactly  the  same  way  that 
141 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

you  wince  at  the  close  approach  of  dentist's  in- 
struments. 

Between  Trinidad  and  Las  Vegas  we  were 
overtaken  by  a  blizzard.  It  rained,  hailed,  and 
finally  snowed,  and  it  all  passed  by  us  in  less  than 
an  hour.  But  in  the  midst  of  it  we  lost  our  way 
and  wandered  for  miles  across  the  prairie.  Final- 
ly, at  the  end  of  about  twenty  miles  we  saw  an 
open  wagon  and  two  men  resting  under  it,  but 
they  spoke  only  Spanish  and  we  understood  their 
directions  so  vaguely  that  when  our  road  disap- 
peared into  hilly,  roadless  prairie,  and  we  came 
to  a  new  bridge  without  any  tracks  leading  to  it, 
and  apparently  uncrossable  between  it  and  us,  it 
was  snowing  again,  there  were  no  shadows  to  tell 
the  points  of  the  compass  by.  As  E.  M.  drove 
on  at  a  snail's  pace,  wondering  which  direction  to 
turn,  two  Indians  on  ponies  appeared  over  the 
edge  of  a  nearby  hill. 

Again  we  had  no  language  in  common.  But  we 
repeated,  "Las  Vegas,"  and  they,  gravely  mo- 
tioning us  to  follow,  led  us  through  a  labyrinthian 
path  between  the  hillocks  to  the  mesa  from  which 
the  bridge  started.  Although  they  helped  us  with 
greatest  willingness,  and  accepted  a  coin  with 
grave  courtesy,  their  faces  were  as  expressionless 
as  wood-carvings  and  neither  uttered  a  sound  nor 
smiled. 

Finally,  because  we  were  hungry  and  not  by  rea- 
son of  any  inviting  charm  at  that  particular  point 
of  the  earth's  most  dreary  surface,  we  stopped 
142 


GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WEST  THAT  WAS 

for  luncheon.  We  had  just  about  spread  out  our 
food  paraphernalia  when,  turning  at  the  sound  of 
a  galloping  hoofed  animal,  we  saw  a  horseman 
tearing  across  the  plains  toward  us.  He  rode  as 
a  brigand  might,  and  as  only  a  Westerner  can. 
Standing  in  his  stirrups  rather  than  sitting  in  his 
saddle,  and  seemingly  unaffected  by  the  rocking 
motion  of  his  mount,  his  body  was  poised  level 
with  the  horizon. 

Was  he  a  highwayman,  one  of  those  notorious 
bad  men  that  the  Southwest  is  said  to  be  infested 
with,  or  was  he  just  a  cowboy  ?  His  outline  fitted 
into  any  sort  of  a  part  your  fear  or  delight  might 
imagine.  The  wide-brimmed  hat,  bandanna  hand- 
kerchief around  his  neck,  leather  cuffs  on  his  shirt 
and  murderous-looking  cartridge  belt  and  re- 
volver, suited  equally  a  make-up  for  good  or  bad. 

My  heart  thumped  with  the  excitement  of  a  pos- 
sible hold  up,  and  yet  I  was  far  too  fascinated  to 
feel  either  fear  or  inclination  to  escape.  As  he 
came  nearer,  he  came  slower,  and  when  quite  close 
he  brought  his  horse  to  a  leisurely  walk  that  had 
no  longer  any  hold-up  suggestion  in  it  and  I  took 
a  bite  out  of  my  hitherto  untouched  sandwich. 
When  almost  beside  us,  he  leaned  a  little  sideways 
in  his  saddle  and  glanced  at  our  State  license  num- 
ber, and  then  at  us,  with  a  manner  as  casual  and 
unconcerned  as  though  we  might  have  been  an  in- 
animate hillock  of  the  landscape. 

Then,  " Howdy,  strangers!"  he  said.  The  tone 
of  his  voice  was  friendly  enough,  in  spite  of  his 
143 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN"  GATE 

taciturn  and  utterly  unsmiling  expression.  It  has 
struck  us  all  through  the  West  how  seldom  anyone 
has  smiled. 

"How  are  you!"  echoed  E.  M.,  matching  man- 
ner for  manner.  His  tone,  too,  had  a  friendly 
ring,  but  he  went  on  opening  a  tin  of  potted  meat 
as  though  no  one  else  were  present. 

"Come  all  the  way  from  back  East  in  that  ma- 
chine?" the  Westerner  asked,  with  a  little  more 
interest.  ' '  How  long  you  been  comin '  ? " 

E.  M.  glanced  up  from  his  tin-opening  and  the 
two  exchanged  a  few  remarks  on  the  subject  of 
roads  and  horses  and  motors  and  then,  as  nearly 
as  I  can  remember,  the  Westerner  said: 

"It'd  be  a  mighty  long  ride  on  a  cayuse !  Which 
them  machines  shorely  disregards  distance  a 
whole  lot." 

E.  M.  asked  the  Westerner,  "Won't  you  have 
some  lunch  with  us?  Awfully  glad  if  you  will!" 

"Thank  you''  but  he  moved  a  little  away  from 
us,  as  though  for  the  first  time  embarrassed. 
"Thank  YOU!"  he  said  again.  "I  et  dinner  'bout 
an  hour  ago ! ' ' 

"We  have  only  cold  things,"  I  explained,  not 
only  thrilled  at  an  encounter  with  a  real  live  cow- 
boy but  attracted  by  his  distinctly  pleasing  per- 
sonality. He  had  no  manner  at  all  and  yet  in  his 
absence  of  self -consciousness  there  was  very  real 
dignity.  And  in  contrast  to  the  copper-brown  of 
his  face  his  unsmiling  eyes  were  so  blue  that  their 
color  was  startling.  I  had  been  wrapped  in  ad- 
144 


GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WEST  THAT  WAS 

miration  of  E.  M.'s  color,  which  I  thought  as 
brown  as  sun  could  make  a  man,  but  beside  this 
other  of  the  plains,  E.  M.  looked  almost  pallid. 

"I  don't  aim  to  have  you  deny  yourself  nothin' 
for  me!"  he  hesitated. 

' '  Oh,  we  have  lots  of  food  I "  said  Celia.  *  *  Cold 
food,  though,  you  know ;  nothing  hot. ' ' 

For  the  first  time  his  eyes  crinkled  into  a  half 
smile : 

"The  grub  we  get  is  hot,  which  is  most  of  the 
virchoos  you  can  claim  for  it. ' ' 

Meanwhile  E.  M.  had  proffered  an  open  box  of 
eggs  and  sandwiches.  The  other  dismounted, 
threw  the  reins  forward  over  his  horse 's  neck,  and 
accepted  our  hospitality.  He  turned  a  paper  plate 
and  a  thin  tin  spoon  in  his  hands  as  though 
dubious  of  such  flimsy  utility  until  he  discov- 
ered it  was  to  be  used  for  ice  cream.  Hard  fro- 
zen ice  cream  under  the  midday  sun  and  fifty 
miles  from  where  it  could  be  bought,  interested 
him. 

"I've  seen  bottles  for  liquids,  but  I've  never 
seen  one  like  that  for  solids.  It  sure  is  cold ! "  he 
said.  And  with  its  coldness,  he  quite  thawed.  He 
did  not  look  more  than  thirty,  yet  talked  quite  a 
while  about  the  old  times  that  he  himself  remem- 
bered, generalities  for  the  most  part,  but  with  a 
lingering  keenness  in  describing  the  qualifications 
that  men  on  the  range  used  to  have. 

Also  he  told  us  a  string  of  yarns — that  may  have 
been  true — or  they  may  have  been  merely  the  type 
145 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

of  divertissement  whereby  Westerners  love  to  en- 
tertain themselves  at  the  expense  of  Eastern 
credulity.  One  amusing  story,  at  any  rate,  was  of 
the  hold-up  of  a  passenger  stage  by  a  single 
masked  man.  Afterwards  when  the  sheriff  and 
his  men  followed  his  horse's  tracks,  they  suddenly 
disappeared  as  though  the  earth  had  swallowed 
them.  It  had.  They  found  the  thief's  buried 
boots  with  horseshoes  nailed  on  them  on  a  path 
that  had  too  many  footprints  to  single  out  one  to 
follow. 

He  added  quite  regretfully  that  cow-punching 
was  not  what  it  used  to  be.  Cattle  were  getting 
tame  and  the  ranches  were  enclosed  in  wire  fences 
and  life  was  so  soft  and  easy,  that  cattle  raising 
was  no  more  exciting  than  raising  sheep.  Finally 
he  volunteered : 

"I've  got  folks  in  Massachusetts;  my  brother 
Sam's  in  Boston." 

When  E.  M.  told  him  that  he  had  come  from 
Boston,  as  he  was  still  a  student  at  Harvard,  the 
Westerner  could  neither  understand  how  it  was 
that  E.  M.  did  not  know  his  brother,  nor  that  a 
man  of  such  an  age  and  size  could  still  be  getting 
an  education. 

"Book  learning"  was  a  good  thing,  he  thought, 
but  twenty  years  of  age  was  too  late  in  his  opinion 
to  be  still  acquiring  it.  He  himself  had  run  away 
from  home  at  the  age  of  eleven.  Not  because  of 
ill-treatment,  but  merely  that  it  seemed  the  manly 
thing  to  do.  In  his  opinion  a  boy  was  a  no-account 
146 


GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WEST  THAT  WAS 

specimen  who  would  stay  past  his  twelfth  year 
"hangin'  round  his  womenfolks." 

To  run  away  and  never  send  a  word  home  seems 
to  be  the  commonplace  behavior  of  Western  boys. 
"I  don't  know  how  your  mothers  stand  the  anx- 
iety," I  said  aloud,  "not  to  know  whether  their 
sons  are  even  alive." 

"I  reckon  that's  so.  I  never  showed  up  nor 
wrote  for  six  years.  One  evening  I  walks  in  on 
the  old  folks,  and  they  didn't  recognize  me;  the 
old  woman  went  plum'  over  backwards  when  she 
saveys  it  was  me.  That  was  some  years  ago  and 
I  haven't  been  back  since." 

Having  finished  luncheon  E.  M.  cranked  the  car, 
and  our  guest  gathered  up  the  trailing  reins  of  his 
patiently  standing  horse.  Once  his  rider  was  in 
the  saddle,  however,  the  broncho,  as  though  to 
show  what  he  could  do,  gave  quite  a  gallery  dis- 
play of  bucking,  while  his  rider  gave  no  less  an 
exhibition  of  Western  horsemanship,  rolling 
a  cigarette  in  tranquil  disregard  of  his  po- 
ny's hump-backed  leaps,  which,  however,  soon 
settled  down  into  a  steady  gallop  that  carried 
our  friend  across  the  plains.  On  the  top  of  a 
nubble  he  waved  to  us  and  we  waved  back  as 
we  continued,  on  our  side  regretfully,  our  separate 
ways. 

We  have  passed  any  number  of  little  Mexican, 
or  Indian,  adobe  villages.  One  house  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  picket  fence  painted  bright  laundry 
blue.  Several  had  blue  door  and  window  frames. 
147 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

The  houses  were  all  one-storied  and  the  people 
looked  more  Mexican  than  Indian. 

When  we  finally  arrived,  without  further  diffi- 
culty, at  Las  Vegas,  it  seemed  rather  questionable 
whether  we  would  be  able  to  go  on  next  day  or 
not.  The  barometer  was  down,  several  other  mo- 
torists doleful  and  the  outlook  very  glum. 

"What  did  you  start  so  early  in  the  season 
for?"  we  heard  one  driver  ask  another. 

"Well,"  said  the  second,  "I  don't  mind  a  little 
speculation  as  to  what  you're  going  to  run  into. 
If  you  know  the  road  ahead  of  you  is  all  fine  and 
dandy,  what's  to  keep  your  interest  up?" 

Leaving  Las  Vegas  early  the  next  morning,  we 
encountered  the  same  erratic  weather  that  we  ran 
through  the  day  before.  When  we  happened  to 
be  under  an  unclouded  area,  we  could  see  that  all 
about  us  were  separate  storm  clouds,  black 
smudges  against  an  otherwise  clear  sky.  As  we 
drove  beneath  one  of  the  black  areas,  we  were  del- 
uged with  rain,  or  hail,  or  snow,  and  through  it 
came  into  sunny  weather  again.  It  was  the  most 
curious  sensation  to  run  into  a  blinding  storm,  and 
being  able  to  gauge  beforehand  how  long  it  would 
take  us  to  pass  through  it. 

As  we  approached  a  ford  some  Mexicans  stand- 
ing beside  it  motioned  us  to  make  a  wide  sweep ; 
it  landed  us  in  deep  soft  sand  up  to  our  hubs. 
Whereupon  they  attached  their  horses  to  us  and 
pulled  us  through. 

148 


-.1 


GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WEST  THAT  WAS 

''Do  many  motors  have  to  be  helped?"  I  asked. 

' '  Every  one,  all  same ! ' '  they  replied. 

We  had  passed  two  cars,  so  I  held  up  my  fingers. 
' '  Two  more  are  coming ! "  I  said. 

They  immediately  broke  into  a  broad  grin. 

I  rather  wonder  do  they  make  all  cars  drive  in 
that  large  circle  to  avoid  the  sand  pile ! 

Between  Las  Vegas  and  Santa  Fe,  the  going  was 
the  worst  yet. 

Washed-out  roads,  arroyos,  rocky  stretches,  and 
nubbly  hills.  We  just  about  smashed  everything, 
cracked  and  broke  the  exhaust,  lost  bolts  and 
screws,  and  scraped  along  on  the  pan  all  of  the 
way. 

And  yet  the  dread  Bajada  Hill,  in  which  we  are 
to  drop  nine  hundred  feet  in  one  mile  and  long  cars 
are  warned  in  every  guidebook  of  the  sharp  and 
precipitous  turns,  is  still  ahead  of  us.  One  thing, 
if  it  is  worse  than  from  the  top  of  the  Eaton  we 
might  as  well  be  prepared  to  leave  all  that  is  left 
of  us  scattered  in  odd  pieces  along  the  road. 

The  next  time  we  motor  the  trail  to  Santa  Fe 
we  are  unanimously  agreed  that  it  is  going  to  be 
in  a  very  different  type  of  car — or  best  of  all,  on 
the  backs  of  little  sure-footed  burros ! 


CHAPTER  XX 
OUR  LITTLE  SISTER  OF  YESTERDAY 

WITH  straight  black  Indian  hair  piled  high 
under  a  lace  mantilla,  with  necklaces  of 
gold  and  silver  and  coral  and  turquoise 
as  big  as  hens'  eggs,  with  her  modern  American 
dress  barely  showing  under  her  Indian  blanket  of 
holiest  red,  her  head  pillowed  against  the  moun- 
tains of  the  North,  and  her  little  pueblo  feet  in  the 
high-heeled  Spanish  slippers  stretched  out  upon 
the  plains  of  the  South,  Santa  Fe  sits  dreaming  in 
the  golden  sunlight. 

Sometimes  she  dreams  idly  of  her  girlhood  when 
she  ran  about  the  mountains  barefooted,  her  hair 
done  in  two  squash-blossom  whorls  on  either  side 
of  her  dusky  head,  so  long  ago  that  no  white  man 
had  ever  set  foot  on  the  western  continent.  Or 
perhaps,  half  shutting  her  unfathomable  eyes,  she 
remembers  the  heroes  who  fought  and  died  for 
her,  or  the  pomp  of  her  marriage  with  her  Span- 
ish first  lord,  Don  Juan  d'Onate — noble  in  estates 
rather  than  character,  though  he  brought  her  a 
wedding-gift  of  white  wooly  animals,  afterward 
called  sheep,  and  furthermore,  dressed  her  in  fine 
clothes,  put  her  in  a  palace,  and  made  a  lady  of 
her.  Her  little  bare  feet  were  shod  in  scarlet 
150 


LITTLE   SISTER  OF  YESTERDAY 

slippers,  and  she  had  many  skirts  of  silk  and  vel- 
vet, though  never  a  bodice  to  one  of  them,  but 
her  breast  was  strung  with  necklaces  and  her 
arms  with  bracelets,  and  she  had  shawls  of  silk 
and  mantillas  of  lace  to  wrap  most  of  her  face 
and  all  of  her  bare  brown  shoulders  in.  The  pal- 
ace had  walls  six  feet  thick;  some  say  the  thick 
walls  were  to  hide  the  true  palace  already  built 
by  her  own  Indian  forefathers.  All  the  same, 
nobles  in  broadcloth  embroidered  in  silver  and 
gold  crowded  her  audience  room  when  the  Island 
of  Manhattan  was  a  wilderness,  and  the  wood  of 
which  the  Mayflower  was  to  be  built  was  still 
growing  in  the  forest  of  England. 

But  then  the  dream  becomes  a  sad  one  of  in- 
justice and  cruelty ;  of  long,  long  miserable  years 
under  the  oppression  of  a  dissipated  gambling 
tyrant  who  put  her  family  to  the  sword  or  made 
them  slaves.  Then  came  revolt  and  savage  war- 
fare; massacres  that  made  her  palace  steps  run 
red,  vivid  days  of  flame,  black  ones  of  darkness 

until And  this  is  her  dream  of  dreams !    She 

forgets  it  all  happened  in  the  long  ago.  The 
quick  blood  leaps  again  in  her  veins,  her  heart 
beats  fast,  her  pulses  quiver  at  the  magic  name 
of  her  hero,  her  conqueror,  her  lover,  Don  Diego 
de  Vargas!  Again  she  sees  him,  surrounded  by 
his  panoplied  soldiers,  lances  flashing,  banners 
waving,  marching  victorious  across  the  plaza,  and 
planting  his  cross  at  her  palace  door  in  the  name 
of  the  Virgin,  demanding  her  glad  surrender ! 
151 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

"Ah,  to  love  was  to  live!"  says  Santa  Fe. 
"Yet  in  all  the  world  there  was  only  one  De 
Vargas — and  he  has  passed!"  And  she  wraps 
herself  in  her  Indian  blanket  and  falls  again  to 
dreaming. 

Her  alliance  with  the  American  Bepublic  is 
what  one  might  call  a  marriage  of  arrangement. 
Foreign  in  race,  in  sentiment,  in  understanding, 
she  has  never  adopted  the  customs  or  manners 
of  her  new  lord,  but  lives  tranquilly,  unevent- 
fully, dreaming  always  of  the  long  ago. 

And  even  though  Don  Diego  de  Vargas  has  lain 
for  two  centuries  in  the  grave  of  his  forefathers, 
though  Indians  no  longer  go  on  the  warpath, 
though  the  eight-horse  wagon  mile-long  cara- 
vans of  the  traders  and  travelers  from  the  far 
East  beyond  the  Mississippi  no  longer  come  clat- 
tering down  over  the  mountains,  to  the  excited 
and  welcoming  shouts  of  the  populace  of,  "Los 
Americanos!  La  Caravana!"  crowding  into  the 
Plaza  to  receive  them,  if  the  streets  of  Santa  Fe 
no  longer  riot  in  tumult  and  bloodshed,  they  at 
least  still  riot  in  color  and  picturesqueness,  kaleid- 
oscopic enough  to  vie  with  anything  in  Constan- 
tinople or  Cairo.  You  might  think  yourself  in 
the  Orient  or  in  a  city  of  old  Spain  transported 
upon  a  magic  carpet,  but  nothing  less  like  the 
United  States  can  be  imagined.  Along  the  nar- 
row crooked  streets,  dwellings  hundreds  of  years 
old  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  modern  houses 
that  have  wedged  themselves  between.  Down  a 
152 


LITTLE   SISTER  OF  YESTERDAY 

zigzag  lane  you  may  see  an  Indian  woman  hooded 
in  a  white  cotton  shawl,  and  balancing  a  jar  of 
water  on  her  head  as  in  the  Biblical  pictures  of 
Rebecca. 

Besides  big  modern  automobiles  are  Indians 
leading  little  burros  so  loaded  down  with  firewood 
that  their  meek  little  faces  are  all  there  is  to  be 
seen  protruding  in  front,  little  switching  tails  or 
kicking  heels  in  the  back,  and  the  whole  bundle 
supported  by  spindly  tiny-footed  legs.  On  a 
corner  is  an  Indian  wrapped  in  his  bright  blanket. 
Two  Mexicans  in  high-crowned  wide-brimmed 
sombreros  lean  against  a  door  frame  and  smoke 
cigarettes.  Cowboys  in  flannel  shirts  have  vivid 
bandannas  around  their  throats,  and  there  is  more 
color  yet  in  women's  dresses,  in  flowers,  in  fruits, 
in  awnings — color,  color  rioting  everywhere. 
Over  everything  the  sun  bakes  just  as  it  does  in 
Spain  or  Northern  Africa,  and  the  people  all  look 
as  silent  and  dreamy  as  the  town. 

Only  a  few  hundred  miles  away  are  typical 
striving  American  cities  shouting  to  anyone  who 
will  hear,  and  assailing  the  ears  of  those  who 
won't,  " Watch  me  grow — just  watch  me!"  The 
big  ones  boom  it,  the  little  ones  pipe  it,  but  each 
and  every  one  shouts  to  the  earth  at  large,  "Yes- 
terday I  was  a  community  of  nesters'  shanties; 
today  I'm  an  up-to-date  thriving  town.  Tomor- 
row— wait,  and  you  shall  see ! ' ' 
.  Yet  their  little  Indian  and  Spanish  sister  in 
the  center  of  a  vast  domain  of  buried  cities,  of 
153 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

unmined  treasures,  dozes  in  the  sun  and  cares 
not  a  bit  how  much  the  world  outside  may  strive, 
or  teem  or  grow.  Can  anyone  fancy  her  waking 
from  her  reverie,  dropping  her  indolent  soft 
Spanish  accent  and  shouting  in  strident  tones, 
that  she,  too,  will  be  a  bustling  growing  town? 
Sooner  fancy  the  Sphinx  on  the  African  desert 
urging,  " Votes  for  women!" 


CHAPTER   XXI 
IGNORANCE  WITH  'A  CAPITAL  I 

IMAGINE  people  living  all  their  lives  in  Cairo 
never  having  seen  the  Pyramids.  Imagine 
anyone  living  in  Italy  never  having  been  to 
Pompeii.  Yet  we,  ourselves,  to  whom  the  antiqui- 
ties and  wonders  of  far  countries  are  perfectly 
familiar,  did  not  even  know  that  the  wonders  of 
our  Southwest  existed !  We  thought  that  Pueblo 
had  a  nice  Indian  sound,  that  Santa  Fe  must  be 
an  important  railroad  terminal.  Arizona  we  pic- 
tured as  a  wide  desert  like  the  Sahara,  with  the 
Grand  Canyon  at  the  top  of  it,  and  a  place  called 
Phoenix,  appropriately  named  as  the  only  thing 
that  could  survive  the  heat,  and  another  place 
called  Tombstone,  also  fittingly  named,  in  the 
middle  of  a  vast  area  of  sizzling  sand. 

Was  there  ever  any  place  less  like  a  railroad 
center  than  Santa  Fe?  The  main  line  of  the 
railroad  which  has  taken  its  name  does  not  even 
go  there.  A  little  branch  runs  to  the  terminal 
city  from  a  junction  called  Lamy,  where,  by  the 
way,  there  is  a  Harvey  hotel,  which  means,  of 
course,  a  good  one.  This  is  a  word  of  advice  to 
the  tourist  who  finds  the  one  in  Santa  Fe  poor. 
Still,  in  a  city  that  is  old  and  colorful,  and  quaint, 
155 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

one  hardly  expects  wonderful  accommodations. 
The  hotel  in  Biskra,  Africa,  did  not  use  to  be 
much  to  boast  about,  either. 

As  for  our  ignorance  about  the  country,  we 
came  across  a  woman  today  who  was  certainly, 
at  least  to  us,  a  new  type.  She  was  traveling  on 
mule-back  and  absolutely  alone!  At  first  it 
seemed  the  most  daring  and  dangerous  thing  I 
had  ever  heard  of,  but  a  few  minutes  of  her  con- 
versation convinced  me  that  she  was  quite  safe. 
Never  did  I  believe  a  human  being  could  so  closely 
resemble  a  hornet.  She  looked  us  over  as  though 
we  might  have  been  figures  in  the  Eden  Musee. 
Then  she  asserted: 

"Humph!  You're  the  English  people!  I  saw 
a  British  emblem  on  a  car  outside,  and  it's  easy 
to  see  you  are  the  ones  it  belongs  to!" 

"We  denied  the  nationality  but  claimed  the  car. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders: 

"Well,  if  you  aren't  English,  you're  either  from 
New  York  or  Boston — it  amounts  to  the  same 
thing!  Ever  been  to  Europe?" 

"We  had. 

"Ever  been  out  here  before?" 

We  hadn't. 

"I  knew  it!  I  knew  it  the  very  first  moment 
I  clapped  eyes  on  you!" 

Like  a  phonograph  she  recited  a  long  tirade  on 

the  topic  of  the  "Americans  who  go  spend  money 

in  Europe  and  neglect  their  own  country."    She 

Asserted  the  superiority  of  our  own  land  over 

156 


IGNORANCE  WITH  A  CAPITAL  I 

that  of  every  other  in  generalities  and  in  detail, 
ending  with  a  final  thrust:  "What  can  you  get 
over  there,  I'd  like  to  know,  that  you  can't  get 
here?" 

She  asserted  that  a  two-hundred-thousand-dol- 
lar collection  of  modern  paintings  was  far  more 
worth  seeing  than  the  incomparable  masterpieces 
of  Italy;  she  declared  that  Egypt  and  Pompeii 
held  no  treasures  comparable  with  the  New  Mexi- 
can cliff-dwellings. 

Our  cliff-dwellings  like  little  bird  holes  along 
the  face  of  solid  rock  in  which  cave  men  lived  hun- 
dreds— maybe  thousands  of  years  ago,  are 
marvelously  interesting,  but  to  the  spoiled  globe- 
trotter, looking  for  profuse  evidences  of  bygone 
manners  and  customs  and  beauty,  such  as  you 
find  in  Alexandria  or  Pompeii,  there  are  none. 

There  is,  however,  we  had  been  told,  an  Ari- 
zona cave-dwelling  that  has  a  mural  decoration 
that  can  rival  in  interest  the  frescoes  in  Italy 
or  the  hieroglyphics  of  Egypt.  It  is  merely  the 
imprint  of  a  cave  baby's  hand  pressed  thousands 
of  years  ago  against  the  wall  when  the  adobe  was 
soft.  You  can  also  see  cave-dwellings  of  a  pigmy 
people  that  lived  in  the  Stone  Age  and  wore 
feather  ruching  around  their  necks;  enchanted 
pools  that  have  no  bottoms;  a  lava  river  with  a 
surface  so  sharp,  brittle,  like  splintered  glass, 
that  nothing  living  can  cross  it  and  not  be  foot- 
less, actually,  in  the  end.  You  can  also  find,  to 
this  day  they  say,  a  religious  sect  of  Penitents 
157 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

who,  in  Holy  Week,  practice  every  sort  of  flesh 
mortification,  carry  crosses,  lie  down  on  cactus 
needles  flay  themselves  with  cat-o '-nine-tails,  and 
they  used,  a  few  years  ago,  to  crucify  especially 
fervent  members. 

But  why  try  to  convince  people  that  traveling 
in  the  byways  of  the  Southwest  is  not  a  strenu- 
ous thing  to  do?  Our  hornet  inquisitor  told  us, 
"What  do  you  want  better  than  a  cave  to  sleep 
in?  It's  as  good  as  your  European  hotels  any 
day!"  We  forgot  to  ask  her  how  she  got  up  the 
face  of  the  cliffs  to  get  into  the  caves — a  feat 
far  above  any  ability  of  Celia's  or  mine.  She 
also  said  she  liked  taking  potluck  with  the  In- 
dians. I  wonder  does  she  like,  as  they  do,  the 
taste  of  prairie  dogs,  and  they  say,  occasionally, 
mice  and  snakes? 

Although  she  did  her  best  to  spoil  it  all  for 
us,  we  took  away  an  unforgettable  picture  of  an 
enchanted  land.  Why,  though,  I  wonder,  did  she 
want  to  speak  of  it  or  think  of  it  as  different 
from  what  it  really  is?  Vast,  rugged,  splendidly 
desolate,  big  in  size,  big  in  thought,  big  in  ideals, 
with  a  few  threads  of  enchanting  history  like  that 
of  Santa  Fe,  or  vividly  colored  romances  of  fron- 
tier life  and  Indian  legends  that  vie  with  Kip- 
ling's jungle  books. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
SOME  INDIANS  AND  MR.  X. 

THE  best  commentary  on  the  road  between 
Santa  Fe  and  Albuquerque  is  that  it  took 
us  less  than  three  hours  to  make  the  sixty- 
six  miles,  whereas  the  seventy-three  from  Las 
Vegas  to  Santa  Fe  took  us  nearly  six.  The  Ba- 
jada  Hill,  which  for  days  Celia  and  I  dreaded  so 
much  that  we  did  not  dare  speak  of  it  for  fear 
of  making  E.  M.  nervous,  was  magnificently  built. 
There  is  no  difficulty  in  going  down  it,  even  in  a 
very  long  car  that  has  to  back  and  fill  at  corners ; 
there  are  low  stone  curbs  at  bad  elbows,  and  the 
turns  are  all  well  banked  so  that  you  feel  no 
tendency  to  plunge  off.  A  medium  length  car  with 
a  good  wheel  cut-under  would  run  down  the  dread 
Bajada  as  easily  as  through  the  driveways  of  a 
park!  And  the  entire  distance  across  Sandoval 
County,  although  a  tract  of  desert  desolation  or 
bleak  sand  and  hills  and  cactus,  is  an  easy  drive 
over  a  smooth  road.  In  one  place  you  go  through 
a  great  cleft  cut  through  an  impeding  ridge,  but 
most  of  the  way  you  can  imagine  yourself  in  a 
land  of  the  earth's  beginning  and  where  white 
man  never  was.  Two  Indian  shepherds  in  fact 
were  the  only  human  beings  we  saw  until  our 
159 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

road  ran  into  the  surprisingly  modern  city  of  Al- 
buquerque. 

Stopping  at  the  various  Harvey  hotels  of  the 
Santa  Fe  system,  yet  not  being  travelers  on  the 
railroad,  is  very  like  being  behind  the  scenes  at 
a  theater.  The  hotel  people,  curio-sellers,  and 
Indians  are  the  actors,  the  travelers  on  the  in- 
coming trains  are  the  audience.  Other  people 
don 't  count. 

For  instance,  you  enter  a  tranquilly  ordered 
dining-room.  The  head  waitress  attentively  seats 
you,  your  own  waitress  quickly  fetches  your  first 
course,  and  starts  towards  the  pantry  for  the  sec- 
ond, when  suddenly  a  clerk  appears  and  says, 
'  *  Twenty-six ! ' '  With  the  uniformity  of  a  trained 
chorus  every  face  turns  towards  the  clock,  and  the 
whole  scene  becomes  a  flurry  of  white-starched 
dresses  running  back  and  forth.  Back  with  empty 
trays  and  forth  with  buttered  rolls,  radishes,  cups 
of  soup,  like  a  ballet  of  abundance.  You  wonder 
if  no  one  is  going  to  bring  your  second  course,  but 
you  might  as  well  try  to  attract  the  attention  of 
a  hive  of  bees  when  they  are  swarming.  Having 
nothing  else  to  do  you  discover  the  mystic  words 
twenty-six  to  be  twenty-six  places  to  set.  Finally 
you  descry  your  own  waitress  dealing  slices  of 
toast  to  imaginary  diners  at  a  far  table.  Then 
you  hear  the  rumble  of  the  train,  the  door  lead- 
ing to  the  platform  opens  and  in  come  the 
passengers.  And  you,  having  no  prospect  of 
160 


SOME  INDIANS  AND  MR.  X. 

anything  further  to  eat,  watch  the  way  the  train 
supper  is  managed.  Slices  of  toast  and  soup  in 
cups  are  already  at  their  places,  then  in  files  the 
white-aproned  chorus  carrying  enormous  plat- 
ters of  freshly  grilled  beefsteak,  and  such  savory 
broiled  chicken  that  you,  who  are  so  hungry,  can 
scarcely  wait  a  moment  patiently  for  your  own 
waitress  to  appear.  You  notice  also  the  gigantic 
pots  of  aromatically  steaming  coffee,  tea  and  choc- 
olate being  poured  into  everyone's  cup  but  your 
own,  and  ravenously  you  watch  the  pantry  door 
for  that  long  tarrying  one  who  went  once  upon 
a  time  to  get  some  of  these  delectable  viands  for 
you. 

"Will  you  have  broiled  chicken?"  asks  the 
faithless  She  you  have  been  watching  for,  bend- 
ing solicitously  over  a  group  of  strange  tourists 
at  the  next  table.  At  last  when  the  train  people 
are  quite  supplied,  your  speeding  Hebe  returns 
to  you  and  apologizes  sweetly,  "I  am  sorry  but 
I  had  to  help  get  train  Number  Seven's  supper. 
They've  eaten  all  the  broiled  chicken  that  was 
cooked,  but  I'll  order  you  some  more  if  you  don't 
mind  waiting  twenty  minutes." 

By  and  by  the  train  people  leave,  your  chicken 
arrives  and  you  finish  your  supper  in  common- 
place tranquillity.  But  let  us  look  on  at  another 
comedy,  for  which  the  scene  shifts  to  the  rail- 
road station  at  Albuquerque  where  the  long  stone 
platform  is  colorless  and  deserted.  You  have 
always  on  picture  postcards  seen  it  filled  with 
161 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

Indians.  There  is  not  one  in  sight.  Wait  though 
until  ten  minutes  before  the  California  limited  is 
due.  Out  of  the  nowhere  appear  dozens  of  vividly 
costumed  Navajos  and  Hopis ;  their  blankets  and 
long  braids  woven  with  red  cloth,  their  headbands 
and  beads  and  silver  ornaments  fill  the  platform 
with  color  like  a  flower  display.  Old  squaws  and 
a  few  young  squat  themselves  in  two  rows,  form- 
ing an  aisle  between  the  train  and  the  station 
salesroom.  Although  you  walk  up  and  down  be- 
tween their  forming  lines  watching  them  arrange 
their  display  of  baskets  and  pottery,  they  are  si- 
lent until  the  first  passenger  alights,  and  then  un- 
endingly they  chorus  two  words : 

"  Tain  cent  I"  "Tain  cent!"  The  words  some- 
times sound  like  a  question,  sometimes  a  state- 
ment, but  generally  a  monotonous  drone.  There 
is  a  nice  old  squaw — although  I  believe  the  Hopis 
don't  call  their  women  squaws — sitting  at  the  end. 
I  tripped  and  almost  fell  into  her  lap.  She  looked 
up,  smiled,  and  by  her  inflection,  conveyed,  "Oh, 
my  dear,  did  you  hurt  yourself?"  but  what  she 
said  was, '  *  Tain  cent ! ' ' 

The  third  Harvey  scene  is  frankly  a  vaudeville 
performance  of  Indian  dancing  and  singing.  The 
stage  the  adobe  floor  of  the  Indian  exhibit  room, 
the  walls  of  which  are  hung  to  the  ceiling  with 
blankets,  beadwork,  baskets,  clay  gods,  leather 
costumes — everything  conceivable  in  the  way  of 
Indian  crafts.  Immediately  after  supper  the  tour- 
ists take  their  places  on  benches  ranged  against 
162 


SOME  INDIANS  AND  MR.  X. 

three  sides  of  the  apartment.  Generally  there  is 
a  big  open  fire  on  the  fourth  side,  adding  its  flick- 
ering light  as  the  last  note  to  a  setting  worthy 
of  Belasco. 

The  Indians  dance  most  often  in  pairs  but  occa- 
sionally there  are  as  many  as  eight  or  nine  in  a 
row  or  a  circle,  with  an  additional  background 
of  others  beating  time.  The  typical  step  is  a  sort 
of  a  shuffling  hop;  a  little  like  the  first  step  or 
two  of  a  clog  dancer  before  he  gets  going,  or  else 
just  a  bent  kneed  limp  and  stamp  accompanied 
either  by  a  droning  chant  or  merely  a  series  of 
sounds  not  unlike  grunts.  To  our  Anglo-Saxon 
ears  and  eyes  it  seemed  very  monotonous  even 
after  a  little  sample.  Yet  we  are  told  they  keep  it 
up  for  eight  or  ten  or  twelve  hours  at  a  stretch, 
when  they  are  dancing  seriously  and  at  home. 
Dancing  to  them  is  a  religious  ceremony,  not 
merely  an  informal  expression  of  gayety. 

The  women  we  saw  wore  heavy  black  American 
shoes  and  calico  mother  hubbards  with  a  ruffle 
at  the  bottom,  and  generally  a  shawl  or  blanket 
around  their  shoulders.  Only  one  wore  the  blan- 
ket costume  as  it  is  supposed  to  be  worn :  around 
her  body  and  fastened  on  one  shoulder  leaving 
the  other  arm  and  shoulder  bare  and  also  bare 
feet. 

The  men  were  much  more  picturesque,  in  dark- 
colored  velvet  shirts,  silver  belts,  necklaces  of 
bright  beads  and  white  cross-bars  that  looked  like 
teeth,  huge  turquoise  square-cut  earrings  and  red 
163 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

head-bands.  The  ''Castle  cut"  head-dress  that 
has  been  the  rage  in  New  York  for  the  last  year 
or  two  is  simply  that  of  the  Navajo  Indians.  Their 
head-band  is  a  little  wider  and  invariably  of  red, 
and  the  black  straight  hair  ends  as  stiffly  as  a 
tassel. 

In  some  places  as  at  the  Grand  Canyon,  there 
are  Navajo  huts  and  a  Hopi  communal  house 
where  the  tourist  can  see  something  of  the  way 
the  Indians  live;  the  way  they  weave  blankets 
or  baskets,  beat  silver  or  make  and  paint  pottery. 

But  to  go  back  to  Albuquerque,  where  although 
we  saw  less  of  the  Indians  than  later  in  other 
places,  we  were  lucky  enough  to  hear  a  great  deal 
about  them.  After  dinner — there  was  no  dancing 
— we  were  in  the  Indian  Exhibit  room — probably 
the  most  wonderful  collection  of  their  crafts  that 
there  is.  As  we  were  admiring  an  exceptionally 
beautiful  blanket  of  red,  black  and  white  and 
closely  woven  as  a  fine  Panama  hat,  a  man — we 
thought  him  the  proprietor  at  first — said : 

"It  took  three  years'  bargaining  to  get  that 
blanket  from  a  Navajo  chief.  You  can't  get  them 
made  of  that  quality  any  more.  They'd  rather 
get  ten  or  twelve  dollars  for  a  blanket  they  spend 
a  few  weeks  on  and  get  paid  often,  than  work 
a  year  on  a  single  blanket  that  they  can  sell  for 
a  hundred." 

He  picked  out  various  examples  of  pattern  and 
weaving  and  explained  relative  values.  The 
amount  of  red,  for  instance,  in  the  one  we  had 
164 


SOME  INDIANS  AND  MR.  X. 

been  looking  at  added  greatly  to  its  price.  We 
found  out  later  that  although  not  stationed  at 
Albuquerque,  he  was  one  of  the  Harvey  staff,  and 
as  we  spent  the  whole  evening  talking  with  him, 
and  he  might  not  care  to  have  his  name  taken 
in  vain,  I  '11  call  him  Mr.  X.  He  has  lived  for  years 
among  the  Indians.  We  could  have  listened  to 
his  stories  about  them  forever,  but  to  remember 
the  greater  part  would  be  a  different  matter. 

On  the  subject  of  business  dealings,  an  Indian, 
he  said,  has  no  idea  of  credit.  No  matter  how 
well  he  knows  and  trusts  you,  he  wants  to  be  paid 
cash  the  moment  he  brings  in  his  wares.  To  wait 
even  an  hour  for  his  money  will  not  satisfy  him. 
A  puzzling  thing  had  happened  on  the  platform 
that  afternoon.  I  heard  a  lady  say  to  an  old 
squaw,  "I'll  take  these  three  baskets."  Where- 
upon instead  of  selling  the  baskets,  the  Indian 
hastily  covered  all  of  them  with  a  blanket,  got 
up  and  went  away! 

I  told  this  to  Mr.  X.  He  considered  a  minute, 
then  asked: 

"Did  the  lady  by  chance  wear  violet?" 

"She  did!"  interposed  Celia.  "She  had  on  a 
violet  shirtwaist  and " 

'  *  That  explains  it ! "  Mr.  X  broke  in.  ' '  No  won- 
der she  ran  away.  To  an  Indian  violet  is  the  color 
of  evil.  None  but  a  witch  would  wear  it.  Bed 
is  holy ;  they  love  red  above  all  colors.  Also  they 
love  yellow,  orange  and  turquoise." 

As  we  were  talking  a  young  Navajo  who  was 
165 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

standing  near  us,  suddenly  covering  his  eyes  with 
his  arm,  rushed  from  the  room.  Naturally  we 
looked  at  our  clothes  for  an  evidence  of  violet 
but  Mr.  X.  laughed. 

"It  wasn't  a  case  of  color  this  time!  Do  you 
see  that  old  squaw  that  just  came  in?  She  is 
his  mother-in-law.  Navajos  won't  look  at  their 
wife's  mother;  they  think  they  will  be  bewitched 
if  they  do.  He  is  going  back  to  the  Reservation 
tomorrow,  because  the  old  woman  came  down  to- 
day. He  is  an  intelligent  Indian,  too,  but  if  he 
spies  a  stray  cat  or  dog  around  tonight,  he  will 
probably  think  it  is  his  mother-in-law  having  ta- 
ken that  shape.  Their  belief  in  witchcraft  is  im- 
possible to  break.  At  the  same  time  they  have  an 
undeniable  gift  for  necromancy,  second  sight  or 
whatever  it  may  be  called,  scarcely  less  wonder- 
ful than  that  of  the  Hindoos  of  India.  The  boy 
in  the  basket  trick  and  the  rope-climbing  trick  of 
Asia  are  not  to  be  compared  with  things  I  have 
seen  with  my  own  eyes  in  New  Mexico. 

"I  have  seen  a  Shaman,  or  priest,  sing  over  a 
bare  adobe  floor,  and  the  floor  slowly  burst  in 
one  little  place  and  a  new  shoot  of  corn  appear.  I 
have  seen  this  grow  before  my  eyes  until  it  be- 
came a  full-sized  stalk  with  ripened  corn.  In- 
stead of  waving  a  wand,  as  European  magicians 
do,  the  priest  sings  continually  and  as  long  as 
he  sings  the  corn  grows,  when  he  stops  the  corn- 
stalk stops. 

"The  same  Shaman  can  pour  seeds  and  kernels 
166 


SOME  INDIANS  AND  MR.  X. 

of  corn  out  of  a  hollow  stalk  until  all  about  him 
are  heaping  piles  of  grain  that  could  not  be 
crowded  into  a  thousand  hollowed  cornstalks. 
Medicine  men  of  all  tribes  can  cure  the  sick,  heal 
the  injured,  get  messages  out  of  the  air  and  do 
many  seemingly  impossible  things. 

"Navajos  abhor  snakes  as  much  as  we  do,  but 
Moquis  hold  them  sacred.  Before  their  famous 
snake  dance,  during  which  they  hold  living  rattle- 
snakes in  their  mouths  and  bunches  of  them  wrig- 
gling in  each  hand,  they  anoint  their  bodies  with 
the  juice  of  an  herb,  and  drink  an  herb  tea;  both 
said  to  be  medicine  against  snakebite.  At  all 
events  they  don't  seem  to  suffer  more  than  a 
trifling  indisposition  even  when  they  are  bitten 
in  the  face.  One  theory  is — and  it  certainly 
sounds  reasonable — that  from  early  childhood  the 
snake  priests  are  given  infinitesimal  doses  of  rat- 
tlesnake poison  until  by  the  time  they  reach  man- 
hood they  are  immune  to  any  ill  effects." 

We  had  by  this  time  wandered  out  of  the  In- 
dian room  and  seated  ourselves  in  the  big  rocking- 
chairs  on  the  veranda  of  the  Alvarado,  Mr.  X. 
with  us.  Every  now  and  then  he  stopped  and 
said  that  he  thought  he  had  talked  about  enough, 
but  we  were  insatiable  and  always  begged  him 
to  tell  us  some  more.  Of  the  many  things  he  told 
us,  the  most  interesting  of  all  were  stories  of  the 
medicine  men  and  the  combination  of  articles  that 
constitutes  each  individual's  own  fetich  or  "medi- 
cine." To  this  day  not  only  medicine  men,  but 
167 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

chiefs,  would  as  soon  be  parted  from  their  own 
scalp-locks,  as  from  this  talisman.  Each  has  his 
own  medicine  that  can  never  be  changed,  though 
upon  occasion  it  may  have  a  lucky  article  added  to 
it.  Most  commonly  the  fetich  is  composed  of  a 
little  bag  made  of  the  pelt  of  a  small  animal  and 
filled  with  a  curious  assortment  of  articles  such 
as  bear's  claws,  wolf's  teeth,  things  that  are  asso- 
ciated with  the  wearer's  early  prowess  in  the 
world,  or  more  likely  a  former  existence.  At  all 
events,  an  Indian's  standing  and  power  in  his 
tribe  is  dependent  upon  this  fetich,  and  to  lose 
it  is  to  lose  not  only  power  but  caste — much  more 
than  life  itself. 

In  the  days  past  of  the  Eedman's  war  prowess, 
this  sort  of  "medicine"  worn  by  warriors  most 
especially,  was  supposed  to  grant  them  supernat- 
ural powers  to  kill  enemies  and  preserve  their 
own  life.  If  they  were  wounded  or  killed,  it  meant 
that  the  enemy's  medicine  was  even  more  power- 
ful. But  using  the  word  ' '  medicine ' '  in  our  sense, 
their  "medicine  men" — healers — certainly  know 
of  mysteriously  potent  cures,  the  secrets  of  which 
no  white  man  understands. 

Their  most  usual  way  of  effecting  a  cure  is,  ap- 
parently, to  dance  all  night  in  a  circle  around  the 
afflicted  person,  with  curative  results  that  are  too 
uncannily  like  magic  to  be  believable.  One  case 
that  Mr.  X.  vouched  for  personally  was  that  of 
a  child  that  was  dying  of  blood  poison.  Two  white 
surgeons  of  high  repute  said  that  the  child  had 
168 


SOME  INDIANS  AND  MR.  X. 

scarcely  a  chance  of  living  even  by  amputating 
an  arm  that  had  mortified  beyond  any  hope  of 
saving;  and  that  without  the  operation,  its  death 
was  merely  a  question  of  hours.  The  Indian 
parents  refused  to  have  it  done,  and  insisted  upon 
taking  the  child  to  the  Eeservation.  The  white 
doctors  declared  the  child  could  not  possibly  sur- 
vive such  a  journey  but  as,  in  their  opinion,  it 
could  not  live  long  anyway,  the  parents  might 
as  well  take  it  where  they  pleased.  They  started 
for  the  Eeservation.  It  was  Sunday.  "Four 
sleeps  we  come  back,  all  right,"  said  the  father. 
On  Thursday,  the  fourth  day,  exactly,  back  they 
came  again  with  the  child  well,  and  its  arm  abso- 
lutely sound.  That  a  mortified  arm  should  get 
well,  comes  close  to  the  unbelievable — even  though 
vouched  for,  as  in  this  case,  by  several  reputable 
witnesses. 

As  a  case  of  mental  telepathy,  Mr.  X.  told  us 
that  time  and  time  again  he  had  known  Indians 
to  get  news  out  of  the  air.  An  old  Navajo  one 
day  cried  out  suddenly  that  his  squaw  was  *  *  heap 
sick."  He  was  so  excited  that  he  would  not  wait 
for  Mr.  X.  to  telegraph  and  find  out  if  there  was 
any  truth  in  his  fear,  nor  would  he  wait  for  a 
train,  but  started  on  a  pony  to  ride  to  the  Eeser- 
vation. After  he  had  gone  a  telegram  came 
saying  that  the  squaw  had  been  bitten  by  a 
rattlesnake  and  was  dying. 

After  a  while  the  topic  turned  upon  our  own 
trip.  We  had  intended  to  ship  the  car  at  Albu- 
169 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

querque,  but  the  road  from  Santa  Fe  had  been  so 
good  we  were  encouraged  to  go  further  and  Mr. 
X.  's  enthusiasm  settled  it. 

"  Having  come  down  into  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try," he  said,  "you  really  ought  not  to  miss  see- 
ing some  of  the  wonders  of  our  Southwest.  The 
Pueblo  of  Acoma  is  a  little  out  of  the  way,  but 
there  is  nothing  like  it  anywhere.  'The  city  of 
the  sky*  they  call  it — I  won't  tell  you  any  more 
about  it — you  just  go  and  look  at  it  for  your- 
selves. Isleta,  a  short  distance  south  from  here, 
is  a  pueblo  that  lots  of  tourists  go  to  see,  and 
Laguna  is  fairly  well  known,  too.  They  are  both 
on  your  road  if  you  go  to  Gallup.  Acoma  is  off 
the  beaten  track  but  you  wait  and  send  me  a 
postcard  if  it  is  not  worth  considerable  exertion, 
even  to  behold  it  from  the  desert.  The  En- 
chanted Mesa,  the  higher  one  that  you  come  to 
first,  is  interesting  chiefly  because  of  its  story. 
The  truth  of  it  I  can't  vouch  for,  but  it  is  said 
to  have  been  inhabited  once  by  people  who  reached 
its  dizzy  summit  by  a  great  ladder  rock  that 
leaned  against  its  sides.  One  day  in  a  teriffic  storm 
while  the  men  were  all  plowing  in  the  valley  be- 
low, the  rock  ladder  was  blown  down  and  the 
women  and  children  were  left  in  this  unscalable 
height  to  perish.  Laguna  is  about  halfway  be- 
tween here  and  the  continental  divide,  or  about 
one-third  of  the  distance  to  Gallup.  Acoma  is 
perhaps  eighteen  miles  south  of  Laguna  where 
you  can  get  a  guide  and  also  more  definite  in- 
170 


SOME  INDIANS  AND  MR.  X. 

formation.  Or  you  can  just  go  south  across  the 
plain  by  yourselves,  fairly  near  the  petrified  for- 
est later — no,  that  not  until  you  are  on  the  way 
to  Holbrook.  You  also  skirt  the  edge  of  the  lava 
river — I  don't  think  you'd  know  it  was  anything 
to  look  at  unless  you  were  told.  At  the  time  of 
the  eruption,  the  lava  on  the  surface  cooled  while 
that  underneath  it  was  still  boiling,  and  the  steam 
of  the  boiling  mass  burst  through  the  hardened 
surface  and  splintered  it  like  broken  glass.  Glass 
is  in  fact  the  substance  it  most  resembles.  The 
country  is  full  of  stories  of  men  and  animals  that 
have  tried  to  cross  it,  but  neither  hoofs  nor  cow- 
hide boots  have  ever  been  made  that  can  stay 
intact  on  its  gashing  surface. 

''And  of  course  you  must  get  a  glimpse  of  the 
painted  forest.  After  that  you  can  take  a  train 
when  you  please" — then  with  a  laugh  he  corrected 
— "when  you  get  where  a  train  goes." 

"Where  could  we  sleep?"  asked  Celia. 

"Well,  you  can  sleep  at  the  hotel  in  Gallup — it 
isn't  an  Alvarado  but  it'll  shelter  you.  For  my 
own  part,  if  you  have  a  fine  night,  I'd  sleep  out!" 


CHAPTER  XXIH 
WITH  NOWHERE  TO  GO   BUT  OUT 

PERSONALLY  I  felt  a  sort  of  half-shiver. 
Sleep  out  in  this  land  he  had  been  telling 
us  about!  Sleep  out  in  the  wildest,  lone- 
liest country  in  the  world,  surrounded  by  the  very 
Redskins  about  whom  he  had  earlier  in  the  eve- 
ning been  reeling  pretty  grewsome  stories!  He 
seemed  to  divine  my  thoughts.  ' '  The  Indians  are 
as  peaceful  as  house  cats  now.  Navajos  never 
gave  us  much  trouble  except  when  it  came  to 
horse-stealing." 

Then  he  looked  at  me  in  much  the  way  our 
friend  the  fire  chief  had  in  Rochelle,  Illinois. 

"You  are  not  afraid,  are  you?" 

"Oh,  n-no!    I  think  it's  most  enchanting!" 

"Are  you  cold?"  asked  E.  M. 

"P-perhaps,"  I  said  weakly.  "Besides  if  we 
are  starting  early  I'd  better  go  in  and  see  about 
ordering  provisions  and  things."  Which  last  re- 
mark, I  think,  quite  saved  my  face — at  least  it 
was  meant  to. 

I  did,  of  course,  want  to  see  Acoma,  that  ex- 

altedly  perched  city  of  antiquity.    I  did  want  to 

get  at  least  a  glimpse  of  the  Painted  Desert,  but 

my  bravery  of  spirit  was  of  a  very  halting  qual- 

172 


WITH  NOWHERE   TO   GO  BUT  OUT 

ity.  The  only  thought  that  bolstered  me  up  was 
the  possibility  that  I  was  really  very  brave,  be- 
cause I  was  not  telling  anybody  but  myself  that  I 
was  scared  to  death  at  the  thought  of  a  night  of 
homelessness  in  the  middle  of  an  Indian  reserva- 
tion. When  we  started  the  next  morning  I 
thought  Celia  looked  less  sturdy  than  usual.  She 
said,  *  *  We  are  not  going  to  spend  the  night  any- 
where, are  we?" 

And  I  said  with  my  best  effort  at  spontaneous 
gladness,  "No,  won't  it  be  fun!" 

Celia  looked  exactly  as  a  beginner  who  is  told 
to  jump  head  foremost  into  the  water  in  his  first 
attempt  to  dive.  E.  M.'s  attention  was  as  usual 
entirely  upon  the  car,  and  the  probabilities  of 
twistings  and  bumpings  that  the  unknown  roads 
might  inflict  upon  his  cherished  engine.  The  ques- 
tion of  nowhere  to  sleep  was  of  little  interest- 
still  less  importance.  At  all  events  we  have 
seemingly  enough  provisions  for  ourselves  and  the 
machine  to  carry  us  to  Alaska.  Without  doubt 
we  can  get  motor  supplies  somewhere,  but  that 
is  the  one  risk  E.  M.  refuses  to  take  and  so  we 
are  starting  off  like  a  young  Standard  Oil  agency, 
with  forty-five  gallons  of  gasoline,  thirty-five  in 
the  tank  and  ten  extra  in  cans.  Also  extra  cans 
of  oil.  We  have  plenty  of  water  for  ourselves  and 
some,  too,  for  the  car  although  we  doubt  whether 
alkali  which  ties  the  human  stomach  into  a  hard 
knot  of  agony  at  a  taste  would  give  the  radiator 
a  pain. 

173 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

Our  idea  is  to  go,  if  we  can,  as  far  as  Winslow. 
It  seems  rather  funny  that  we,  who  nearly  failed 
to  stay  intact  over  the  well-worn  Santa  Fe  trail, 
are  branching  into  the  unbeaten  byway  of  the 
desert !  We  have  taken  our  battered  exhaust  pipe 
off,  and  shipped  it  to  Los  Angeles,  and  our  sen- 
sation without  it  is  one  of  such  freedom  that  we 
feel  we  can  surmount  all  obstacles. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

INTO   THE  DESERT 

WHAT  has  this  land  lived  through?  What 
sorrows  have  so  terribly  wasted,  what 
cataclysms  rent  it,  what  courage  ex- 
alted it !  Stupendous  in  its  desolation,  sublime  in 
its  awfulness,  it  mystifies  and  dumbfounds  at 
every  turn.  Smooth  plains  fall  into  an  abyss,  or 
rise  in  bleak  rock  spires.  Firm,  pebbled  river- 
beds suddenly  shift  to  greedy  quicksands;  pools 
that  look  cool  and  limpid  are  boiling,  or  poison- 
ous alkali.  It  suggests  a  theme  of  sculpture  con- 
ceived by  an  Olympian  Eodin,  splendidly  and 
gigantically  hewn  and  with  all  the  mystery  of 
things  not  brought  to  a  finite  shaping. 

But  like  the  Sleeping  Beauty  in  the  fairy-tale, 
the  beauty  sleeping  in  the  Southwest  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  thorn  hedge  of  hardships  and  dis- 
comfort that  presents  its  most  impenetrable 
thicket  and  sharpest  spines  to  the  motorist.  To 
see  this  wonderland  intelligently  or  well,  you 
ought  really  to  be  equipped  with  a  camping  out- 
fit and  go  through  on  horseback.  However,  if  you 
are  willing  to  turn  away  from  the  main  travel 
and  strike  west  from  Albuquerque,  you  can  get 
a  few  compensating  glimpses. 
175 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

For  miles  and  miles  after  leaving  Isleta,  a  quite 
large  settlement  where  there  are  many  Indians 
and  also  many  tourists,  you  go  on  and  on  and  on 
over  an  easy  gradually  ascending  road  not  unlike 
the  long  Platte  Valley  drive,  but  much  more  unin- 
habited. The  once  dangerous  fording  of  the 
Puerco  Eiver  is  no  longer  a  barrier  to  motorists, 
as  there  is  a  splendid  new  bridge  that  takes  you 
smoothly  over.  From  time  to  time  you  come  to  a 
few  adobe  huts  or  a  lonely  little  packing-box  rail- 
road station,  but  your  road  stretches  uneventfully 
on,  until  Laguna. 

There  is  no  need  of  going  by  motor  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  Laguna,  for  you  have  only  to  sit  on 
the  observation  platform — or  even  look  out  of 
a  window  of  any  train  in  the  Santa  Fe  Railroad. 
The  pueblo  of  Laguna  at  a  glance,  is  a  collection 
of  baked  earth  blocks  piled  steeply  one  behind 
the  other  against  a  sun-baked  yellow  hill  at  the 
side  of  the  railroad  track. 

But  to  reach  the  Enchanted  Mesa,  and  the  sky- 
built  city  of  Acoma,  you  must  drive  southward 
from  Laguna  across  a  stubbled  prairie  into  a 
desert  valley  rimmed  with  distant  cliffs  like  the 
walls  of  a  vast  garden.  As  you  round  a  sand 
dune  you  come  suddenly  upon  a  gigantic  round, 
flat-topped  rock,  like  a  titanic  pink  tree-stump — 
scarcely  a  reward  for  all  those  miles  and  miles  of 
dreariness  and  intense  heat,  even  though  its  flat- 
chopped  top  is  a  thousand  feet  clear  above  the 
surrounding  plain.  But  when  you  visualize  the 
176 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

story  of  that  terrible  storm  that  washed  the  great 
rock  ladder  away  and  left  a  village  of  women  and 
children  marooned  upon  that  dizzy  height  until 
they  starved  or  plunged  off  to  a  quicker  death, 
it  certainly  grips  you  in  its  appalling  awe. 

It  is  a  little  wonder  that  the  Indians  think  it 
haunted  and  accursed!  For  my  part  it  seems 
miracle  enough  that  anyone  ever  got  up  there  at 
all  even  with  a  leaning  rock  supplemented  with  a 
notched  tree  ladder.  Scaling  such  a  cliff  would 
be  a  feat  of  horror  beside  which  circus  thrillers, 
looping  gaps  and  dipping  deaths  would  be  a  com- 
paratively tame  performance. 

A  little  way  beyond  the  Enchanted  Mesa 
crowned  upon  ramparts  of  fantastic  perpendicu- 
lar crags  arises  Acoma,  the  skyland  citadel  of  en- 
chantment. You  know  you  can't  be  in  such  prosy 
place  as  Here,  or  within  a  thousand  years  of  Now. 
You  are  standing  before  the  shadowy  citadel  of 
some  ancient  Assyrian  king,  or  more  likely  yet, 
you  have  journeyed  into  the  land  of  fairy-tales 
and  have  come  to  the  castle  of  the  King  of  the 
Iron  Mountain.  Way,  way  above  you,  you  see 
tiny  figures  of  the  sky  inhabitants  inquisitively 
peering  down.  Several  Indians  come  down  from 
their  soaring  citadel  and  look  you  over.  Finally 
one  of  them,  very  solemn  and  serious,  with  his 
shirt-tail  hanging  out,  motions,  "Do  you  want  to 
go  up?" 

You  do,  but  how?  There  are  only  two  paths, 
one  hard  and  short,  the  other  long  and  easy !  The 
177 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

easy  one  is  as  close  to  mountain  climbing  as  the 
ordinary  person  would  want  to  undertake,  though 
Indian  mules  and  burros  make  it  without  difficulty. 
A  burro,  and  a  mule,  and  a  mountain  goat  must 
spring  from  the  same  species.  You  clamber, 
therefore,  up  the  easy  road — a  stiff,  winding  de- 
file like  the  rock-hewn  causeway  to  Valhalla  in  a 
Metropolitan  production  of  a  Wagner  opera,  the 
trail  narrowing  as  it  ascends  until  finally  it  is 
nothing  but  a  narrow  shelf  at  a  precipice  edge. 
If  you  are  rather  light-headed  and  none  too  sure- 
footed you  clutch  tightly  to  a  stronger,  steadier 
hand  and  turn  your  face  cliffward  as  you  shakily 
venture  the  last  of  the  ascent. 

But  your  reward  on  top  is  a  prehistoric  Aztec 
citadel  of  communal  houses  and  occupied  by  peo- 
ple living  today  exactly  as  their  ancestors  lived 
hundreds  of  years  ago.  An  Indian  communal 
house  is  really  a  honeycomb  of  adobe  boxes  like 
a  flight  of  gigantic  steps ;  the  row  on  top  set  back 
from  the  one  below  so  that  the  roof  of  the  first 
floor  makes  the  terrace  in  front  of  the  second,  and 
the  roof  of  the  second  a  piazza  in  front  of  the 
third.  Against  the  wall  of  each  story  lean  the 
typical  ladders  by  which  the  Hopi  Indian  always 
enters  his  home.  The  ground-floor  rooms  are  usu- 
ally entered  through  a  hatchway  in  the  ceiling 
from  a  room  or  a  terrace  above. 

Acoma  is  really  the  sister  of  Santa  Fe,  who  has 
never  changed  her  Indian  ways.  When  the  noble 
Spanish  invader  tried  to  make  a  conquest  of  the 
178 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

whole  family,  Acoma  met  him  at  the  top  of  her 
cliff-hewn  staircase  with  a  battle-ax!  I  should 
think  after  that  climb — the  so-called  "easy"  way 
had  not  been  built  then — one  of  her  brown  babies 
could  have  pushed  him  off  with  a  small  fore- 
finger ! 

To  know  anything  at  all  about  the  lives  or  na- 
tures or  customs  of  these  people,  you  would  have 
to  see  more  than  is  possible  to  an  average,  igno- 
rant tourist,  who  looks  helplessly  at  their  inscru- 
tably serious  faces.  Even  if  by  fortunate  chance 
one  of  them  invites  you  to  mount  a  ladder  and  look 
into  a  dwelling  or  two,  all  you  see  is  a  small  adobe 
room  with  bare  walls,  a  bare  floor  and  possibly  a 
small  high  window.  There  is  a  fireplace  in  one 
corner  and  maybe  a  string  stretched  across  an- 
other with  some  clothes  or  blankets  hung  over  it, 
or  piled  against  a  wall  on  the  floor,  a  water  jar  or 
two,  and  some  primitive  cooking  utensils.  Except 
a  few  younger  members  of  the  community  who 
have  been  to  Carlisle,  no  one  speaks  a  word  of 
English.  Although  in  a  few  places  such  as  the 
Grand  Canyon  or  Albuquerque  an  Indian  will  let 
you  take  his  picture  for  twenty-five  cents,  Mr.  X. 
at  Albuquerque  had  warned  us  not  to  photograph 
any  Indians  we  might  meet  elsewhere.  In  such 
places  as  Acoma  it  might  even  be  dangerous.  Be- 
lieving, as  they  do,  that  a  photograph  takes  a  por- 
tion of  their  life  away  from  them,  no  wonder  they 
object  to  a  stranger's  helping  himself  to  a  little 
piece  of  their  existence. 

179 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

After  leaving  Acoma,  you  drive  again  long  and 
tediously  but  without  serious  hindrance,  all  the 
way  to  Gallup.  At  Gallup  there  is  a  hotel,  a  small 
frame,  frontier  type  of  building.  But  by  the  time 
we  reached  it  we  agreed  with  Mr.  X.  that  it  would 
be  more  of  an  experience  to  spend  the  night  under 
the  stars.  How  much  the  beauty  of  the  stars 
would  have  tempted  us  had  the  hotel  been  more 
inviting  I  am  not  very  sure.  Beyond  Gallup  you 
run  into  the  Navajo  Indian  Reservation,  your 
road  having  ascended  rather  steeply  through 
parklike  woods  of  cedars,  and  the  altitude  again 
affects  both  lungs  and  carburetor,  but  even  if  it 
makes  you  gasp  a  little  it  is  an  essence  of  deli- 
ciousness  as  reviving  as  an  elixir  of  life.  You  go 
past  the  road  that  leads  to  the  wonderful  Canyon 
de  Chelly,  but  it  is  impossible  for  a  motor — any 
kind  of  a  motor,  even  the  littlest  and  lightest  one 
— to  go  over  it  in  the  early  spring,  so  you  con- 
tinue on  until  at  last,  coming  out  upon  a  mesa,  you 
see  spread  below  you  the  Painted  Desert !  It  can 
be  none  other.  You  would  be  willing  to  take  oath 
that  a  great  city  of  palaces  in  all  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow  lies  spread  before  you.  It  is  inconceiv- 
able that  rock  and  sand  and  twilight  alone  create 
these  turrets  and  ramparts  and  bastions  of  crim- 
son, gold,  blue,  azure,  indigo,  purple,  and  the 
whole  scene  immersed  in  liquid  mauve  and  gold, 
as  though  the  atmosphere  were  made  of  billions 
and  billions  of  particles  of  opalescent  fluid.  And 
as  you  stand  in  silent  contemplation  an  Indian 
180 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

with  scarlet  head-band  rides  by  on  a  piebald  pony 
so  that  there  shall  be  no  color  unused. 

At  last  when  the  vividness  of  colors  begin  to 
soften  into  vapory  purples,  deepening  again  to  in- 
digo, you  gather  a  little  brushwood  and  for  the 
mere  companionable  cheerfulness  make  a  campfire 
to  eat  your  supper  by.  You  probably  heat  a  can 
of  soup,  roast  potatoes,  and  finally,  having  noth- 
ing else  to  cook  or  heat  for  the  present,  hit  upon 
the  brilliant  thought  of  boiling  water,  while  the 
fire  burns,  for  next  morning's  coffee.  At  least  this 
is  what  we  did,  and  poured  it  into  a  thermos  to 
keep  hot.  Also  we  climbed  back  into  the  car.  Per- 
sonally I  have  an  abject  terror  of  snakes,  though 
there  was  very  likely  none  within  a  hundred 
miles  of  us.  For  nothing  on  earth  would  I  make 
myself  a  bed  on  the  open  ground.  Also  the  seats 
of  our  car — there  was  at  least  one  satisfactory 
thing  about  it — are  only  four  or  five  inches  from 
the  floor,  and  sitting  in  it  is  like  sitting  in  an  up- 
holstered steamer  chair  with  the  footrest  up — 
a  perfectly  comfortable  position  to  go  to  sleep  in. 
So  that  bundled  up  in  fur  coats  with  steamer 
blankets  over  us  we  were  just  as  snug  as  the  pro- 
verbial bugs  in  a  rug.  For  my  own  part,  though, 
the  night  was  too  beautiful  out  under  that  star- 
hung  sky  willingly  to  shut  my  eyes  and  blot  it 
out.  My  former  fears  of  prowling  Indians, 
strange  animals,  spooks,  spirits — or  perhaps  just 
vast  empty  blackness — had  vanished  completely, 
and  instead  there  was  merely  the  consciousness  of 
181 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

an  experience  too  beautiful  to  waste  a  moment 
of.  I  could  not  bear  to  go  to  sleep.  The  very  air 
was  too  delicious  in  its  sparkling  purity  to  want 
to  stop  consciously  breathing  it.  Overhead  was 
the  wide  inverted  bowl  of  purple  blue  made  of  an 
immensity  of  blues  overlaid  with  blues  that  went 
through  and  through  forever,  studded  with  its 
myriad  blinking  lamps  lit  suddenly  all  together, 
and  so  close  I  felt  that  I  could  almost  reach  them 
with  my  hand. 

I  really  don't  know  whether  I  slept  or  not,  but 
the  thing  I  became  conscious  of  was  the  beginning 
of  the  dawn.  Overhead  the  heaven  was  still  that 
deep  unfathomable  blue.  In  the  very  deepest  of  its 
color  the  crescent  moon  and  single  star  glowed 
with  a  light  rayless  as  it  was  dazzling.  Over  near 
the  horizon  the  blue  lightened  gradually  to  pale 
azure  and  deepened  where  it  rested  on  the  brown 
purple  rim  of  the  desert  to  a  band  of  reddish  or- 
ange, very  soft,  very  melting.  Gradually  the 
moon  and  star  grew  dim  like  turned-down  lamps 
against  a  heaven  turning  turquoise.  Down  in  the 
valley  hung  a  mist  of  orchid  against  which  the 
black  branches  of  a  nearby  cedar  were  etched  in 
Japanese  silhouette.  Far,  far  on  the  north  hori- 
zon the  clouds  of  day  were  herded,  waiting.  Then 
a  single  cloud  advanced,  dipped  itself  in  rose  color 
and  edged  itself  with  gold;  a  streak  of  red,  as 
from  a  giant's  paint-brush,  swept  across  the  sky. 
A  moment  of  waiting  more  and  then  the  great 
blinding  sun  peered  above  the  eastern  moun- 
182 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

tains'  rim  and  the  clouds  broke  and  scattered 
like  cotton-wool  sheep  across  their  pasture  skies. 
The  moon  turned  into  a  little  curved  feather 
dropped  from  a  bird's  breast  and  the  star  a 
pinprick;  yet  in  their  hour,  how  glorious  they 
were! 

Celia  and  I  tried  to  find  a  stream  in  which  to 
wash  our  faces,  but,  failing  in  our  search,  we 
shared  the  water  in  our  African  bags  with  the  ra- 
diator. The  hot  water  in  the  thermos  bottle 
poured  over  George  Washington  coffee  did  not 
delay  us  a  moment  in  our  breakfast-making,  and 
it  could  not  have  been  later  than  five  o  'clock  when 
we  were  well  off  on  our  way. 

It  was  an  endlessly  long  day's  run  and  difficult 
in  places.  I  'm  sure  we  lost  our  way  several  times, 
a  perfectly  dispiriting  thing  to  do,  as  it  was  much 
like  being  lost  in  a  rowboat  out  in  the  middle  of 
the  ocean.  Except  while  still  in  the  Reservation 
where  we  passed  occasional  Navajos  we  saw  no 
living  person  or  thing  the  rest  of  the  day.  Some- 
times we  went  over  rolling,  stubbled  prairie, 
fringed  again  with  cedars  and  pines ;  next  through 
a  veritable  desert  of  desolation  with  nothing  but 
rocks  and  sand.  Sometimes  the  road  wound  tran- 
quilly through  timbered  glades;  again  came  a 
straight,  monotonous  stretch  of  sandy  trail.  Then 
suddenly  it  twisted  itself  over  a  path  of  washed- 
out  rock,  or  suddenly  fell  into  an  arroyo.  Over 
and  over  these  symptoms  were  repeated  in  every 
variety  of  combination.  Finally  we  reached  Hol- 
183 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

brook,  and  we  drove  without  any  adventures  over 
a  traveled  road  to  Winslow. 

For  nothing  would  I  have  missed  the  experience. 
It  was  wonderful,  all  of  it,  yet  no  hotel  ever 
seemed  so  enchanting  as  the  Harvey,  nor  was  any 
supper  ever  so  good  as  the  one  they  so  promptly 
put  before  us. 

Of  course,  if  we  had  had  a  breakdown  we  would 
have  been  marooned  out  in  a  wilderness !  No  liv- 
ing being  knew  our  whereabouts  and  we  might 
quite  easily  have  been  dust  before  anyone  would 
have  passed  our  way.  If  we  had  had  different 
equipment  we  would  certainly  have  gone  further. 
Fortunately  the  most  interesting  (as  well  as  most 
difficult)  part  of  the  desert  was  all  behind  us,  and 
as  we  also  wanted  to  motor  through  California, 
we  had  no  choice.  The  car  was  in  a  seriously  crip- 
pled condition ;  any  more  arroyos  and  there  really 
would  be  no  more  motoring  for  us  this  trip.  So, 
all  things  considered,  we  hailed  our  freight  car 
resignedly,  put  the  motor  on  it  and  sent  it  ahead 
of  us  to  Los  Angeles,  while  we  ourselves  took 
the  train  to  the  Grand  Canyon. 

By  the  way,  a  word  about  the  Navajos  whose 
dwellings  in  no  way  resemble  the  staired  adobe 
pyramids  in  Acoma,  Taos  and  Laguna.  The  Na- 
vajo  huts — hogans  they  are  called — are  made  of 
logs  and  twigs  plastered  with  mud,  not  all  over 
like  an  icing,  but  merely  in  between  the  logs  as  a 
mortar.  They  have  no  openings  except  a  low 
door  that  you  have  to  stoop  to  enter,  and  a  smoke 
184 


. 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

hole  in  the  center  of  the  domelike  roof.  Inside,  if 
the  ones  at  the  Grand  Canyon  are  typical,  as  they 
are  supposed  to  be,  they  are  merely  one  room  with 
a  fire  burning  in  the  center  and  blankets  spread 
around  the  edge  of  the  floor  close  under  the  slant- 
ing walls.  Personally  I  feel  rather  embarrassed 
on  being  told  to  look  in  upon  a  group  of  swarthy 
figures  who  contemplate  the  intrusion  of  their 
privacy  in  solemn  silence.  In  one  of  them  a 
mother  was  rolling  her  plump  brown  baby  on  its 
swaddling  board.  When  it  was  securely  tied  in 
place,  although  the  father  carried  it  outside  in  or- 
der to  allow  me  to  take  its  picture,  I  nearly  got 
into  trouble  about  it.  The  shutter  of  my  camera 
had  to  be  set  first  and  then  released  which  made 
two  clicks.  When  I  paid  the  regulation  quarter, 
he  was  furious  and  demanded  double  pay.  I,  on 
my  side,  thought  I  was  being  imposed  upon  as  he 
had  himself  volunteered  to  hold  the  baby  for  me 
for  twenty-five  cents.  E.  M.,  who  divined  the  dif- 
ficulty, quickly  took  the  film  pack  out,  and  holding 
it  open  against  the  light,  explained  to  the  Indian 
carefully,  "Little  click  no  picture."  And  the 
Navajo,  being  quite  satisfied  with  the  quarter,  I 
then  gave  him  the  second  one — a  senseless,  but 
commonplace  proceeding. 

Meanwhile,  comfortably  lounging  on  the  terrace 
overlooking  this  greatest  of  all  great  canyons,  an 
old-timer  is  talking  of  "the  good  old  days  of 
Hance's  camp  before  this  high-falutin'  hotel  was 
built."  And  at  his  mere  suggestion  I  become 
185 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

vividly  aware  that,  after  all,  the  way  I  like  best  to 
see  anything  is  comfortably.  Perhaps  there  might 
be  an  added  awe  if  one  stood  alone  at  the  brink 
of  this  yawning  abyss,  perhaps  some  of  the 
gnarled  roads  and  small  clefts  that  seemed  won- 
derful when  we  were  crawling  among  them  might 
have  seemed  dull  little  places  from  the  terrace  of 
a  luxurious  hotel,  but  being  at  heart — no  matter 
how  much  I  might  pretend  to  be  above  the  neces- 
sity of  comfort — an  effete  Easterner,  I  very  grate- 
fully appreciate  the  genius  of  the  man  who  built 
this  hotel  for  such  as  L 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THROUGH  THE  CITY  UNPRONOUNCEABLE  TO  AN 
EXPOSITION  BEAUTIFUL 

SAYS  Los  Angeles,  " Whatever  you  do,  don't 
call  me  Angy  Lees ' ' ! 
Laboriously  E.  M.  wrote  her  name  as  she 
herself  pronounced  it,  "Loas  Ang-hell-less." 
With  the  piece  of  paper  before  me  I  can  say  it 
glibly  enough,  but  in  coming  upon  it  unprepared, 
my  only  hope  is  to  follow  his  flippant  but  very 
helpful  suggestion  and  mentally  dive  through  it. 
First,  get  hell  as  the  objective  plunge  fixed  in 
mind,  then  start  on  loas  (like  a  run-off),  Ang  (hit 
the  springboard),  hell  (the  dive),  less  (into  the 
water). 

I  am  not  very  certain,  though,  that  I  want  to 
call  her  at  all.  Perhaps  we  had  the  spleen,  but 
the  meaning  and  beauty  of  the  city  was  quite  as 
obscured  to  us  as  her  name  is  to  those  having  no 
knowledge  of  Spanish.  Another  thing  that  is  even 
more  obscured  is  why  Los  Angeles  calls  herself 
the  City  of  Hotels  f  New  York  might  as  well  call 
herself  the  City  of  Mosques,  or  Chicago  the  Cita- 
del of  Fortifications,  or  Colorado  Springs  the  Sea- 
side Eesort !  All  the  way  across  the  continent  in 
the  various  illustrated  information  books  that 
187 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

are  strewn  for  the  edification  of  idle  tourists 
around  mezzanine  writing-rooms,  you  read  and 
read  and  read  of  Los  Angeles  hotels.  Not  a  word 
does  any  one  of  these  pamphlets  say  about  the 
Southern  capital's  gigantically  growing  indus- 
tries, fertile  surroundings,  automobile  interests, 
millionaire  mansions,  peerless  parks,  or  even  the 
height  to  which  the  June  thermometer  can  soar. 
Each  advertising  line  acclaims  it  solely  as  the  City 
of  Hotels. 

11  Which  shall  be  your  hotel?"  reads  one  eulogy. 
"You  have  only  to  name  your  ideal,  and  choose 
whatever  you  like."  "If  you  care  most  for  food 
there  i§  the  restaurant  of  the  Van  Nuys;  if  you 
want  a  homey  place  to  stop  at,  you  have  a  score 
of  smaller  hotels  to  choose  from.  But  of  course  if 
you  want  to  find  the  most  luxurious  metropolitan 
hostelry  on  the  entire  continent  there  is  the  Green 
and  Gold  lobby  at  the  Alexandria."  How  the  lob- 
by in  itself  is  supposed  to  so  much  contribute  to 
your  happiness  and  comfort,  you  have  no  idea. 
But  each  and  every  advertisement  either  begins  or 
ends  with  a  description  and  a  full-page  picture  of 
this  imposing  hallway.  To  test  the  peerless  per- 
fection of  this  Blackstone  rival  is  naturally  irre- 
sistible and  into  its  overwhelming  gorgeousness 
you  go !  The  gorgeousness  is  there  quite  as  in  the 
pictures,  also  it  is  in  every  way  a  perfectly  up-to- 
date  and  luxurious  hotel.  You  wonder,  though,  is 
the  cost  of  food  inordinately  high?  Are  wages 
prohibitive?  Is  it  merely  monopoly  or  forces  of 
188 


THIS  Is  NOT  A  GALLERY  IN  A  SPANISH  PALACE,  BUT  A  GALLERY  IN 
THE  MISSION  INN  AT  RIVERSIDE.  CALIFORNIA 


THE  CITY  UNPRONOUNCEABLE 

circumstance  beyond  its  control  that  allows  the 
only  strictly  up-to-date  hotel  in  the  place  to 
charge  such  prices?  At  Trouville,  in  the  season, 
or  Monte  Carlo,  your  bill  can  be  rather  staggering, 
but  at  least  you  get  the  quintessence  of  exotic  lux- 
ury and  the  most  unlimited  offerings  in  diversions 
that  the  purveyors  to  the  spenders  of  the  world 
can  achieve.  When,  however,  a  commonplace  city  \ 
of  extremest  dullness  asks  you  Monte  Carlo  prices,  ) 
higher  than  the  Kitz  in  New  York  or  the  Black- 
stone  in  Chicago,  you  find  a  certain  much- 
advertised  green  with  gold  lobby  illuminingly 
symbolical  of  the  guests  who  would  for  any 
length  of  time  stay  there. 

To  find  anywhere  else  to  stay  is  more  than  diffi- 
cult. You  run  around  to  "This"  one  and  to 
"That,"  and  then  to  the  whole  advertised  list, 
but  your  own  "ideal"  is  not  among  them.  So 
either  you  stay  on  where  you  are,  and  ignore  the 
hole  in  your  bank  account  or  you  go  quickly  on 
to  the  next  place;  or,  better  yet,  move  out  to  the 
beautiful  suburb,  for  which  one  might  say  Los  An- 
geles is  famous  and  where  half  of  the  Los  Angeles 
fashionables  live.  In  other  words,  Pasadena. 
Pasadena,  besides  having  many  splendid  hotels,1 
is  a  floral  park  of  much  beauty,  a  little  too  neat, 
perhaps,  for  real  allure  and  possibly  a  little  over- 
obviously  rich.  But  its  even  squares  of  streets 
are  splendidly  bordered  with  palms  or  pepper- 
trees.  Here  and  there  the  center  of  the  street  is 

1  See  Map  No.  23,  page  308. 

189 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

sentineled  by  a  superb  tree  that  you  are  glad  the 
street  builders  had  not  the  heart  to  cut  down. 
Back  of  tropically  verdant  lawns  are  rows  of 
homelike  bungalows  smothered  in  vines  and  there 
are  many  important  and  beautiful  places  that  en- 
tirely compensate  for  the  few  crude  garish  ones 
that  flaunt  so  much  wealth  and  so  little  good  taste. 

The  Country  Club  is  most  charming,  and  in  it  a 
big  room  so  appealing  in  color  and  furnishing  that 
you  feel  irresistibly  like  settling  yourself  in  the 
corner  of  one  of  the  chintz-covered  sofas  and  stay- 
ing indefinitely.  Yet  the  same  people  whose  own 
houses  are  so  attractive  will  seriously  take  you  to 
admire  a  horticultural  achievement  that,  in  its  ma- 
gentas and  scarlets,  purples  and  heliotrope,  or- 
ange, Indian  red  and  Paris  green,  lacks  no  element 
of  discord  except  an  out-of-tune  German  band  to 
play  among  its  glass  globes.  I  don't  really  re- 
member whether  I  saw  any  glass  globes  or  not,  but 
the  disturbed  visions  that  come  back  to  me  are  of 
silver  globes,  iron  stags,  sea-shell  fountains  amid 
a  floral  debauch. 

They  say  that  when  people  paint  their  faces 
they  lose  their  eye  and  soon  put  the  whole  paint 
box  on.  In  the  same  way  it  may  be  that  the  bril- 
liancy of  the  sunshine  has  affected  people's  sight 
and  that  they  can't  perceive  color  discords.  All 
through  Southern  California  you  see  combinations 
of  color  that  fairly  set  your  teeth  on  edge.  Scar- 
let and  majenta  are  put  together  everywhere; 
Prussian  blue  next  to  cobalt;  vermilion  next  to 
190 


THE  CITY  UNPRONOUNCEABLE 

old  rose,  olive-green  next  to  emerald.  Not  only  in 
flowers,  but  in  homes  and  in  clothes. 

We  dined  the  other  night  in  a  terra-cotta  room 
hung  with  crimson  curtains ;  one  woman  in  a  tur- 
quoise-colored dress  wore  slippers  of  French  blue, 
another  carried  an  emerald-colored  fan  with  a 
sage-green  frock ! 

The  conversation — only  some  of  it — was  as 
queerly  assembled  as  the  colors.  A  Mr.  Brown, 
to  convince  me  of  the  high  moral  tone  of  Pasadena 
men,  told  me  that,  in  Honolulu,  a  chief  offered  a 
friend  of  his  two  beautiful  young  wives.  He  laid 
special  stress  on  their  beauty  of  "form"  and 
sweetness  of  disposition.  Also  he  explained  care- 
fully that  they  were  yellow  in  color,  not  black. 
' '  But  my  friend  explained  to  the  chief  that  he  was 
married.  The  chief  said,  'What  difference  does 
that  make?  Do  you  want  to  insult  my  brotherly 
love  for  you?'  "  But  the  friend  "insulted"  and 
refused  the  little  gold-colored  wives.  I  waited 
for  the  rest  of  the  story  but  there  did  not  seem  to 
be  any  rest.  So  I  said,  "And  then ?" 

"Well,  that  was  just  to  show  you,"  he  answered 
proudly,  "the  high  type  of  men  we  have  out  here 
on  the  coast." 

I  put  this  down  as  I  heard  it,  although  I  myself 
don't  see  much  point  to  it,  even  yet! 

I  am  trying  not  to  say  so  much  about  hotels  any 
more,  but  there  is  one  I  must  mention — particu- 
larly after  the  failure  we  had  with  them  in  Los 
191 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

Angeles.  Wanting  to  see  the  most  famous  orange 
grove  in  the  country,  we  drove  to  Riverside  and 
found  quite  by  accident  the  most  ideal  hotel  imag- 
inable— the  really  most  lovely  place  that  ever  was ! 
So  I  must  tell  you  that  the  Mission  Inn  at  River- 
side is  worth  traveling  miles  to  stop  at ;  a  hotel  of 
pure  delight,  in  which  the  beauty  of  a  Spanish  pal- 
ace and  the  picturesqueness  of  an  old  mission  is 
combined  with  the  most  perfect  modern  comfort 
and  at  fair  and  reasonable  rates.  I  don't  believe 
anyone  ever  entered  its  hospitable  doors  without 
pleasure  or  left  them  without  regret. 

From  Riverside  we  made  a  loop  back  to  Los 
Angeles  and  drove  to  San  Diego  along  the  edge  of 
the  ocean  all  the  way.  The  coast  was  one  long 
succession  of  big  ocean  resort  hotels  on  a  boule- 
vard that  seemed  too  smooth  and  perfect  to  be 
true.  We  had  forgotten  that  such  road  smooth- 
ness existed  for  our  poor  long-tortured  engine  to 
glide  over. 

The  Fair  at  San  Diego  was  a  little  Exposition 
Beautiful!  The  composite  impression  was  of  a 
garden  of  dense,  shiny  green.  Great  masses  and 
profusions  of  orange-trees  and  vines  against  low 
one-storied  buildings  of  gray-white.  Across  a 
long  viaduct  under  an  archway  and  down  a  long 
avenue,  there  was  no  other  color  except  gray- 
white  and  green  until  you  came  into  the  central 
plaza  filled  with  pigeons  as  in  St.  Mark's  in  Ven- 
ice, and  saw  over  one  portico  of  the  quadrangle 
of  white  buildings  a  single  blaze  of  orange  and 
192 


THE  CITY  UNPRONOUNCEABLE 

blue  striped  awnings — stripes  nearly  a  foot  wide 
of  blue  the  color  of  laundry  blue,  and  orange  the 
color  of  the  most  vivid  fruit  of  that  name  that 
you  can  find!  Against  the  unrelieved  green  and 
gray  this  one  barbaric  splash  of  color  actually 
thrilled. 

Down  the  next  avenue  hanging  behind  the  balus- 
trade of  another  building  was  the  same  vivid 
sweep  of  blue.  Over  a  building  around  the  corner 
was  a  climbing  amber  rose,  and  just  beyond  it 
some  pinkish-purple  bougainvillea,  that  beautiful 
but  most  difficult  vine  to  put  anywhere.  There 
were  gardens  and  gardens  of  flowers  but  each  so 
separated  and  grouped  that  there  was  not  a  note 
of  discord. 

And  how  things  did  grow !  Some  of  the  build- 
ings were  already  covered  to  their  roofs  with 
vines,  and  benches  shaded  by  shrubs,  that  we 
treasure  at  home  in  little  pots ! 

The  San  Diego  Exposition  was  a  pure  delight. 
Its  simplicity  and  faultless  harmony  of  color 
brought  out  all  its  values  startlingly. 

A  farmer — ought  he  be  called  a  rancher? — said 
he  thought  it  a  ''homey"  exposition.  I  doubt  if 
the  sentiment  could  be  better  expressed.  It  was 
first  and  foremost  designed  to  show  by  actual  dem- 
onstration what  could  be  accomplished  in  our  own 
land  of  the  West.  The  citrus  groves  were  full 
sized ;  the  fields  of  grain  were  big  and  real ;  instead 
of  putting  reapers  and  harvesters  in  a  large  ma- 
chinery hall,  they  demonstrated  them  on  a  model 
193 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

ranch,  so  that  anyone  likely  to  be  interested  could 
see  how  they  were  used. 

The  Indian  exhibits  .were  very  complete — espe- 
cially those  of  the  Hopis.  There  was  a  life-size 
model  of  the  pueblo  of  Taos  and  miniature  models 
of  the  other  more  famous  pueblos,  and  examples  of 
their  arts  and  crafts. 

Otherwise  the  general  impressions  of  the  exhib- 
its were  much  alike;  bottles  of  fruit  in  alcohol, 
sheaves  of  grain,  arches  of  oranges,  and  school 
children's  efforts  in  art. 

Of  all  the  buildings,  we  liked  Kansas  best.  We 
liked  it  from  its  three  stiff  clay  sunflowers  raised 
and  painted  over  its  plain  little  front  door  to  its 
unending  varieties  of  grains.  And  all  because  the 
old  Kansan — not  that  he  was  so  old  either — in 
charge  of  it  so  loved  his  state  and  was  so  unaffect- 
edly proud  of  it,  that  we  caught  the  infection  from 
him.  We  couldn't  help  it. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "I've  only  samples  here 
but  there's  nothing  that  can  grow  in  the  soil  that 
we  can't  grow  in  Kansas !  These  people  out  here 
talk  about  beautiful  California,  the  *  ever-blooming 
garden  of  California,'  and  her  'sublime  mountain 
scenery, ' '  ocean-kissed  shore '  and  what  not.  Now, 
for  my  taste,  give  me  a  land  that  is  as  flat  as  the 
pa'm  of  your  hand — give  me  Kansas!" 

An  old  woman  came  in  while  we  were  there. 
She  poked  all  around,  sniffed  at  the  kaffir  corn, 
at  every  variety  of  grain  that  could  be  stored  in 
glass-fronted  bins  or  arched  into  sheaves. 
194 


THE  CITY  UNPRONOUNCEABLE 

"Land  sakes!"  she  said.  "Y 'ain't  got  nothin' 
in  here  but  chickin  feed.  Ain't  yuh  got  nothin  * 
feat?"  And  out  she  switched  again. 

"I  suppose  that  old  woman 'd  like  me  to  keep 
a  nice  crock  of  doughnuts  ready  to  give  her,  and  a 
cup  of  tea,  mebbe.  Chickin  feed,  indeed!  Well, 
when  it  comes  to  hens,  I  like  the  feathered  kind. 
You  can  put  them  in  a  pot  and  boil  'em !  Chickin 
feed !  And  it's  mighty  fine  chickin  feed,  I  tell  you, 
that  a  man  can  grow  in  the  state  of  Kansas  I" 

Coronado  Beach,  the  famous  winter  resort,  is 
across  the  bay  and  reached  in  a  few  minutes  by 
ferry  from  San  Diego. 

In  San  Diego  itself  a  new  apartment  house,  the 
Palomar,  offers  a  novelty  in  automatic  and  eco- 
nomic living  that  is  quite  original.  Single  apart- 
ments, for  instance,  rent  for  $65.00  a  month  and 
consist  of  a  large  living-room,  a  small  dressing- 
room,  a  bathroom,  and  a  kitchenette.  No  bed- 
room !  You  dress  in  the  dressing-room,  and  sleep 
in  the  living-room  in  a  disappearing  bed,  not  a 
folding  one,  that  in  the  daytime  is  rolled  into  an 
air  chamber  large  enough  to  hold  it  intact.  You 
can  rent  a  room  for  your  personal  maid,  or  valet, 
but  all  of  the  service  is  furnished  as  in  a  hotel. 
Only  instead  of  ordering  your  food  in  a  res- 
taurant, you  do  your  own  marketing  and  have  it 
prepared  in  your  own  kitchen.  Instead  of  paying 
your  cook  by  the  month,  you  hire  one  at  twenty- 
five  cents  an  hour  whenever  you  want  a  meal 
cooked.  No  meals  at  home,  no  cook ! 
195 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

From  the  point  of  view  of  the  stranger  glanc- 
ing about  the  streets,  the  chief  diversion  in  San 
Diego  seems  to  be  moving  pictures.  The  square 
which  appears  to  be  the  central  point  around 
which  the  city  is  built,  is  lined  with  electric  arched 
doorways  displaying  every  lure  of  lithograph. 
Besides  the  picture  palaces  are  two  drug-stores, 
and  a  funeral  director's  window,  proffering  the 
latest  novelties  in  caskets.  But  the  most  lingering 
memory  of  San  Diego,  outside  of  her  harbor,  is  of 
her  school  buildings.  They  are  the  last  word  in 
construction  and  equipment,  Tudor  in  design,  and 
very  imposing. 

When  we  left  San  Diego  and  all  along  the  ocean 
the  weather  was  deliciously  cool,  but  as  we  went 
inland  toward  Pasadena  it  became  hotter  than 
anything  you  can  imagine.  It  was  a  case  of  116° 
in  the  shade  and  there  wasn't  any  shade! 

"How  can  the  orange-trees  remain  so  beautiful- 
ly green?"  I  heard  Celia  muttering.  Twenty 
miles  north  of  Los  Angeles  I  looked  at  the  unburnt 
hills  and  crisply  standing  live-oaks  in  wonder  and 
amazement.  I  could  actually  see  blisters  forming 
on  E.  M.  's  nose.  Finally  we  panted  up  a  big  wind- 
ing hill,  a  branch  of  the  Coast  Range  of  moun- 
tains, I  suppose  it  was,  and  as  we  dipped  over  on 
the  other  side,  such  a  gust  of  cold  sea  wind  greeted 
us  that  in  five  minutes,  we,  who  had  been  gasping 
like  dying  fish,  were  wrapping  our  now  shivering 
selves  in  coats ! 

Besides  the  life-giving  coolness  of  the  sea  air, 
196 


THE  CITY  UNPRONOUNCEABLE 

never,  never  was  there  a  more  beautiful  drive  than 
the  one  to  Santa  Barbara.  Not  the  Cornici  of 
France — not  even  the  Sorrento  to  Amalfi  of  Italy. 
Mountains  on  one  side,  the  ocean  on  the  other, 
curving  in  and  out  of  bays  each  more  lovely  than 
the  last,  and  on  a  road  like  linoleum.  I  thought 
I  should  like  to  live  where  I  could  drive  up  and 
down  that  road  forever ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  LAND   OF   GLADNESS 

LIGHT-HEARTED,  happy,  basking  in  the 
sunshine,  her  eyes  not  dreamily  gazing  into 
the  past,  nor  avariciously  peering  into  the 
future,  but  dancing  with  the  joy  of  today — such 
is  California!    It  is  not  only  the  sun  of  heaven 
shining  upon  California  that  makes  her  the  gar- 
den-land of  the  world,  but  the  sun  radiating  from 
the  hearts  of  her  people.    Golden  she  certainly  is 
— land  of  golden  fruit,  land  of  golden  plenty, 
daughter  of  the  golden  sun. 

If  you  have  millions  and  want  to  learn  a  million 
ways  to  spend  them;  if  you  are  a  social  climber 
and  want  to  scale  the  Western  Hemisphere's  most 
polished  pinnacle ;  if  you  want  to  become  worldly, 
cynical,  effete,  go  to  New  York.  New  York  is  the 
princess  of  impersonality,  the  queen  of  indiffer- 
ence. Your  riches  do  not  impress  her;  without 
any,  you  do  not  exist.  You  can  come  or  go,  sink 
or  swim,  be  brilliant,  beautiful  or  charming,  she 
cares  not  a  whit.  "What  new  extravagance  do 
you  bring  to  amuse  me?"  she  asks,  bored  even 
before  she  has  finished  asking. 

"What  are  you  ambitious  to  do?"  asks  Chicago. 
' '  What  are  you  trying  to  be !    Can  I  help  you  I ' ' 
198 


THE  LAND  OF  GLADNESS 

" Welcome  to  the  land  of  sunshine!"  says  smil- 
ing California.  "If  your  heart  is  young,  then 
stay  with  me  and  play ! ' ' 

There  are  plenty  of  reasons  why  they  liken 
Santa  Barbara  to  Nice,  Cannes,  or  Monte  Carlo. 
When  we  arrived  in  our  rooms  at  the  Hotel  Pot- 
ter we  could  hardly  believe  we  were  not  on  the 
Riviera,  not  merely  because  of  the  white  enamel 
and  shadow  chintz  furnishings  of  our  rooms  look- 
ing out  upon  the  palm-bordered  esplanade  to  the 
ocean  just  beyond,  but  because  only  in  Continental 
watering  places  do  friends  send — or  could  they 
possibly  find  for  you — bouquets  of  welcome  like 
that.  Against  the  gray  wall  above  the  writing- 
table  a  great  sheaf  bouquet  of  the  big,  pale-pink 
roses  that  you  associate  with  France,  combined 
with  silver  violet  thistles,  gladiolii  in  a  chromatic 
scale  of  creams  and  corals,  and  in  such  profusion 
that  they  were  standing  in  a  tall  vase  on  the  floor. 
The  third  bouquet  was  of  apricot-colored  roses, 
heliotrope  and  white  lilies. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Eiviera  bears  the  same 
resemblance  to  Santa  Barbara  that  artificial  flow- 
ers bear  to  the  real.  The  spirit  of  one  is  essen- 
tially artificial,  insidiously  demoralizing.  The 
spirit  of  the  other  is  the  essence  of  naturalness, 
inevitably  rejuvenating. 

Instead  of  spending  your  every  waking  moment 

in    electric-lighted    restaurants     and    gambling 

rooms,  you  live  in  the  sunshine,  and  in  the  open. 

Every  house,  nearly,  has  its  patio  or  open  court, 

199 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

and  no  matter  what  your  occupation  may  be,  you 
seldom  go  indoors.  Carrying  the  love  of  outdoors 
even  to  concerts  and  theatrical  performances,  the 
owner  of  a  very  beautiful  garden  has  built  a  the- 
ater, of  which  the  stage  is  a  terrace  of  grass,  and 
the  scenery  evenly  planted  trees.  In  spite  of  some 
of  the  pretentious  villas,  the  keynote  of  the  Pa- 
cific coast  is  still  naturalness.  Affectations  have 
really  no  place. 

One  afternoon  at  a  fruit  ranch,  we  found  our- 
selves next  to  a  woman  who  for  twenty  minutes  ex- 
tolled the  perfection  of  her  long  years  of  living  in 
Italy.  With  her  hands  affectedly  clasped  and  gaz- 
ing at  the  feathery  olive-trees,  she  exclaimed : 

"  Ah !  that  takes  me  so  back  to  my  beloved  Sicily, 
and  the  mornings  when  I  used  to  walk  along  the 
olive  groves  and  eat  ripe  olives  before  break- 
fast." 

To  offer  strangers  olives  picked  from  the  trees 
is  a  pet  joke  of  Calif ornians  no  less  than  the  Ital- 
ians. The  uncured  fruit  is  as  bitterly  uneatable 
as  quinine. 

' '  Oh,  do  you  like  fresh  olives ! '  >  This  gleefully 
from  the  host.  "Let  me  pick  you  some!"  In  a 
few  moments  he  returned  with  a  fruit-laden 
branch.  With  bated  breath,  everyone  watched  as 
she  plucked  one  and — gamely,  ate  it ! 

To  look  at  the  orange,  lemon,  walnut  and  olive 

groves  out  here  you  would  think  failure  in  crops 

an  impossibility.    Put  any  kind  of  a  little  shoot  in 

the  ground  and  you  can  almost  stand  beside  it  and 

200 


THE  LAND  OF  GLADNESS 

wait  for  it  to  be  grown.  But  perhaps  the  land's 
perfection  is  a  proof  of  skilled  industry  after  all. 
At  least  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  orange-growers 
in  the  State  told  us :  "  Come  out  and  run  a  ranch 
for  fifteen  seasons  and  you  will  find  fifteen  reasons 
why  you  can  fail.'* 

Ordinarily,  though,  in  the  conversation  of  peo- 
ple here,  the  personal  equation  is  left  out.  Cali- 
fornians  seldom  if  ever  accentuate  their  own 
share  in  the  success  of  anything. 

Everywhere  else  the  enthusiastic  inhabitants 
speak  of  their  state  and  of  their  city  as  a  man 
speaks  of  his  success  in  business,  or  a  woman 
speaks  of  her  new  home — not  only  with  pride  in 
the  thing  accomplished  but  with  a  satisfaction  that 
comes  from  their  personal  effort  toward  its  ac- 
complishment. 

The  Chicagoans,  I  remember,  for  instance,  in 
their  pride  in  the  Wheaton  Country  Club,  seemed 
to  feel  that  their  planting  and  building  and  mak- 
ing a  beauty  spot  out  of  a  sand  heap  was  the  most 
admirable  thing  about  it. 

The  only  parallel  to  the  attitude  of  the  Cali- 
fornians  that  I  can  think  of  is  that  of  the  Ital- 
ians. Living  in  their  land  is  merely  a  great 
privilege  that  God  has  given  them,  and  the  beauty 
of  it  is  a  thing  that  has  always  been — a  thing 
with  which  mere  man  has  had  little  to  do. 

The  picture  that  the  visitor  remembers  first, 
last  and  best  in  Santa  Barbara  is  of  a  succession 
of  low  mountain  ledges  capped  with  white,  pink, 
201 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

gray  or  terra-cotta  villas,  surrounded  by  tropical 
gardens  and  overlooking  a  sapphire-colored  ocean 
gleaming  in  perpetual  sunlight.  Nothing  in  all  of 
Italy,  not  on  the  road  from  Sorrento  to  Amalfi, 
not  even  at  Taormina  in  Sicily,  is  there  any  scene 
of  land  and  water  more  beautiful.  Of  the  villas, 
most  are  impressive,  a  few  are  admirable,  and  one, 
in  particular,  is  like  a  fifteenth-century  Italian 
gem  of  the  first  water  transplanted  by  magic,  gar- 
dens and  all,  from  the  heart  of  Italy.  No  other 
place  has  quite  the  atmosphere  of  this  one — that 
sense  of  nobleness  that  we  have  been  taught  to 
believe  is  made  only  by  centuries  of  mellowing  on 
an  already  perfect  foundation.  It  is  not  an  imita- 
tion. Everything  in  it  is  real  and  everything  is 
old  except  the  garden,  which  looks  the  oldest  of  all. 
Perhaps,  though,  in  a  land  where  green  things 
crowd  an  average  year's  growth  into  every  week, 
it  is  small  wonder  that  an  effect  of  centuries  can 
be  acquired  in  a  decade. 

I  don't  know  whether  we  missed  them,  but 
among  all  the  glorious  gardens  of  lawns  and 
hedges  and  trees,  we  saw  scarcely  any  flower  gar- 
dens; and  the  few  we  saw  screamed  in  hideous 
discords  of  magenta,  scarlet  and  purple.  As  in 
Pasadena,  the  riot  of  sun  and  color  seems  to  make 
people  blind  to  color  discord.  An  exception,  how- 
ever— the  only  one  we  saw — was  in  the  gardens  of 
the  Mirasol,  which  reminds  me,  by  the  way,  that 
the  Mirasol  Hotel  is  a  sort  of  post-impressionist 
ne  plus  ultra,  in  hotel-keeping. 
202 


THE  LAND  OF  GLADNESS 

To  begin  with,  its  groups  of  little  white  bunga- 
lows neatly  set  within  its  white  picket-fenced  in- 
closure,  is  more  like  a  toy  village  than  any  possible 
suggestion  of  hotel.  Each  little  bungalow  is  low 
and  white,  with  boxes  of  flowers  under  every  win- 
dow and  a  general  smothered-in-vines  appearance. 
So  much  for  the  outside.  Inside  each  holds  several 
bedrooms,  one  or  two  bathrooms,  and  perhaps  a 
private  sitting-room,  all  of  them  super-modern  in 
their  furnishings,  and  each  room  looking  out  upon 
a  vista  of  garden  that  matches  its  own  color 
scheme.  A  rose-chintz  sitting-room,  for  instance, 
looks  out  on  a  rose  garden;  a  lavender  bedroom 
opens  on  a  garden  in  which  there  are  none  but  lav- 
ender flowers,  and  a  yellow  one  looks  into  a  vista 
of  yellow.  All  of  the  decoration  is  rather  over- 
stenciled  and  striped,  but  the  bedroom  bungalows 
are  really  enchanting.  The  public  rooms,  dining- 
room,  public  sitting-room  and  tearoom,  are  in  a 
bigger  house,  the  orange  and  blue  interior  of 
which  suggests  nothing  so  much  as  the  setting  of 
a  Bakst  ballet.  The  walls,  curtains,  table  cloths, 
decorations,  chairs,  napkins  and  the  waitresses' 
aprons  are  all  apricot  orange,  and  the  stenciling 
and  stripes  and  floor  and  waitresses'  dresses  are 
blue.  There  is  a  tearoom  in  which  gorgeous  cock- 
atoos— live  ones! — live  in  blaze  of  orange  sur- 
roundings. The  details  are  all  carefully  done, 
most  of  them  are  effective,  and  certainly  unusual. 
For  our  own  parts  we  thought  the  bedrooms  love- 
ly; the  highly  polished  indigo  floor  paint  an  in-. 
203 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

spiration,  and  the  orange-colored  table  linens 
amusing;  but  when  it  came  to  filigreed  silver 
breast-pins  glued  into  the  drawing-room  mantel, 
it  was  the  one  touch  too  much ! 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  METTLE  OF  A  HERO 

AN  explosion  shook  the  town,  then  came  the 
fire  engines.  Everybody  ran  and  of  course 
we  ran  too.  "We  saw  a  big,  Colonial  house 
in  a  blaze,  then  a  second  explosion!  And  a  thick 
black  mass  of  smoke  blew  off  the  roof.  People 
ran  hither  and  thither  in  wild  excitement ;  a  fire- 
man dashed  into  the  flames  and  carried  out  a  dy- 
ing girl;  her  face  was  bleeding  and  her  clothes 
were  in  burnt  shreds.  More  dying  people  were 
miraculously  saved,  then  suddenly  like  a  huge 
screen  the  whole  house  fell  flat.  It  had  no  behind 
and  no  inside  and  the  whole  scene  was  only  the 
"movies."  The  injured  face  of  the  heroine  was 
only  red  paint  and  the  house  a  property  one  built 
for  the  purpose. 

"This  is  nothing,"  said  a  member  of  the  com- 
pany to  me,  ' '  if  you  want  to  see  something  excit- 
ing, go  to  the  chalk  cliffs  just  on  the  road  to  Santa 
Maria  tomorrow  morning.  We're  going  to  work 
on  the  'Diamond  From  the  Sky/  That's  our  star 
over  there!  You  don't  want  to  miss  any  pictures 
when  he  is  in  it. ' ' 

I  saw  a  young  man  leaning  against  a  telegraph 
205 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

pole  chewing  a  straw.  He  looked  almost  too  lazy 
to  be  alive. 

"He's  always  like  that!"  said  the  member  of 
the  company.  "You  wouldn't  think  there  was  an 
ounce  of  go  in  him !  He 's  always  whittling  a  stick, 
or  chewing  a  straw,  and  if  he  was  to  be  killed,  he'd 
never  move  a  muscle ! ' ' 

"He  looks  kind  of  comatose,  doesn't  he?"  said 
the  manager,  who  overheard.  ' '  Well,  you  go  out 
to  the  chalk  cliffs  at  about  eleven  tomorrow 
if  you  think  he's  comatose,  and  see  him  come 
to." 

Naturally  we  went.  We  found  the  place  easily 
by  the  number  of  people  gathered  at  the  spot.  A 
shelf  road  was  cut  on  the  face  of  the  high  chalk 
cliffs,  above  a  seventy-foot  sheer  drop  into  the 
water.  We  saw  the  comatose  one,  looking  just  as 
indifferent  as  ever,  get  into  a  car  and  start  for 
the  narrow  road  up  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  Then 
another  followed  him.  At  a  word  from  the  di- 
rector, they  raced  across  the  high  narrow  shelf, 
the  comatose  one  swerved  to  the  very  edge,  top- 
pled and  plunged  over  the  abyss!  No  stopping 
the  picture  at  the  brink  and  putting  a  dummy  in 
his  place.  A  feeling  of  such  nausea  caught  me  I 
could  not  look  to  see  him  land.  How  he  escaped 
with  his  life  he  alone  knew.  The  car  struck  the 
rocks  and  smashed  to  pieces,  but  they  say  he  threw 
himself  like  an  eel  clear  of  the  wheel  and  safely 
into  the  water.  They  then  fished  him  out,  he  got 
into  another  car  just  as  he  was,  and  started  home 
206 


THE  METTLE  OF  A  HERO 

as  though  nothing  had  happened.  When  we 
reached  a  railroad  track  where  they  were  going  to 
take  another  picture,  the  same  actor  was  this  time 
to  drive  so  near  the  track  that  the  locomotive 
might  in  the  picture  seem  to  hit  the  car.  The 
camera  man  was  ready  to  turn  the  crank  of  his 
camera,  the  locomotive  was  almost  at  the  crossing, 
when  dash !  went  the  devil-driver  toward  the  track. 
Stop  f  Nothing  of  the  sort !  He  met  it  as  a  ram 
meets  an  enemy,  head  on.  The  locomotive  carried 
his  mangled  self  and  wrecked  machine  up  the 
track.  The  engineer,  shaking  as  with  the  palsy, 
almost  fell  out  of  his  cab.  The  company  and  we, 
too,  rushed  up  to  where  the  wrecked  machine  and 
injured  man  lay.  Blood  was  streaming  from  his 
head,  his  arm  distortedly  twisted  under  him,  and 
he  was  writhing  in  pain,  but  when  the  camera  man 
reached  him  all  he  said  was : 

11  This '11  be  great  stuff!  Make  a  close-up 
quick!"  They  made  the  pictures  and  then  he  lost 
consciousness. 

Although  decorated  with  many  bandages,  he  is 
up  and  about,  looking  as  comatose  as  ever. 

We  went  to  a  film  rehearsal  at  the  Flying  A. 
In  front  of  us  sat  the  heroine,  the  hero,  the  villain, 
and  all  members  of  the  company.  The  director 
read  the  words  that  would  be  printed  between  sec- 
tions of  the  finished  reel  and  the  pictures  were 
shown  in  negative  only.  Every  now  and  then  the 
actors  made  a  few  remarks  such  as,  "That's  a 
fine  action,  Steve";  "Gee,  Steve,  that's  great!" 
207 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

"I  like  Flora  down  by  the  brook";  "Nice  scene, 
Flora ! ' '  Finally  the  heroine  died. 

"Nobody  can  die  with  so  much  sob  stuff  as 
Flora,"  said  our  friend  in  a  whisper. 

Flora  heard  and  answered:  "Some  time  I'd 
like  a  part  that  I  don't  have  to  die  in.  That's  the 
seventeenth  time  I've  died  this  season." 

Of  the  many  moving  picture  plants  we  saw,  the 
Flying  A  was  the  smallest  but  most  interesting. 
The  difference  between  the  Universal  City  and 
Flying  A  studio  is  that  between  Barnum's  Circus 
at  the  Madison  Square  Garden  and  the  Little 
Theater — or  better,  the  Grand  Guignol  in  Paris. 
The  Universal  City  is  a  gigantic  organization  that 
can  produce  anything  from  tiger-hunting  in  the 
jungle,  to  plays  like  *  '  Quo  Vadis. ' ' 

But  why— Oh,  why  don't  the  moving  picture 
people  have  someone  show  them  how  the  houses 
of  the  socially  prominent  really  look?  Where  do 
they  devise  the  manners,  customs,  and  nightmare 
interiors  that  could  not  be  found  outside  of  the 
society  atmosphere  of  Dingy  Dunk  or  Splashville 
except  in  the  "movies"? 

Leaving  Santa  Barbara  about  two  o'clock  we 
arrived  at  Paso  Eobles  long  before  dark.  The 
next  morning,  however,  we  left  early  in  order  to 
spend  part  of  the  day  with  some  friends  who  have 
a  cattle  and  alfalfa  ranch  about  midway  to  Mon- 
terey. I  should  think  the  cattle  would  all  topple 
over  dead  and  the  alfalfa  shrivel  to  cinders.  Cool 
California?  The  thermometer  was  easily  120,  and 
208 


THE  METTLE  OF  A  HERO 

that  cloudless  sky  a  blinding  blaze  of  torture. 
Our  friends  were  quite  tranquil  about  it.  "It  is 
pretty  hot  here  just  now.  You  see  we  are  pock- 
eted in  between  the  hill  ranges,  but  it  is  beautifully 
mild  all  winter." 

To  us  the  mild  winter  did  not  seem  to  compen- 
sate, since  we  could  not  understand  anyone's  sur- 
viving so  long  as  until  then. 

That  afternoon's  drive  was  the  hottest  I  hope 
ever  to  have  to  live  through.  To  put  your  hand 
on  unshaded  metal  was  to  burn  it,  as  though  on  a 
hot  flat-iron.  The  main  road,  El  Camino  Eeal, 
was  good  all  the  way  to  Salinas,  but  the  branch 
road  from  there  to  Monterey  was  bumpy  and  bad 
until  within  a  mile  or  so  of  our  destination. 

Of  Monterey  and  its  peerlessly  beautiful  sev- 
enteen-mile ocean  and  cedar  drive,  there  is  no 
need  to  write.  Like  Niagara  and  the  Grand 
Canyon,  it  has  been  written  about  and  photo- 
graphed in  every  newspaper  and  periodical  in  the 
world.  Also,  as  was  the  case  further  south,  hot 
as  it  might  be  inland,  the  coast  was  deliciously 
cool.  The  weather  changed  fortunately  by  the 
time  we  again  drove  inland  and  up  the  perfect 
boulevard  to  San  Francisco.  They  tell  me,  how- 
ever, that  so  far  as  the  neighborhood  of  San 
Francisco  is  concerned  no  one  need  ever  dread 
heat,  a  scorching  temperature  being  unknown. 
Wind  you  may  have,  and  sometimes  fog,  but  ex- 
tremes of  either  heat  or  cold,  never!  Besides 
other  blessings  in  this  particular  spot  of  this  won- 
209 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

derful  land  you  can  also  choose  your  own  tempera- 
ture. If  you  like  warm  weather,  walk  in  the  sun. 
If  you  like  cold  weather,  walk  in  the  shade.  On 
the  former  side  of  the  street,  you  will  find  a  muslin 
dress  just  right;  on  the  latter  you  will  be  com- 
fortable in  a  sealskin  coat.  This  is  not  a  joke, 
as  I  had  always  thought  it  to  be,  but  quite  true. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

SAN  FRANCISCO 

JUST  as  it  is  often  for  their  little  tricks  or  fail- 
ings that  we  love  people  best,  so  it  is  with 
San  Francisco.  You  may  find  her  beautiful 
as  she  rises  tier  on  tier  on  her  many  hills  above 
the  dazzling  waters  of  the  bay,  you  must  admire 
the  resolution  and  courage  with  which,  out  of  her 
annihilation,  she  has  risen  more  beautiful  than 
before ;  but  you  love  her  for  a  lot  of  human,  fool- 
ish, adorable  personalities  of  her  own,  such  as 
the  guileless  way  she  stuccoes  the  front  of  her 
houses,  leaving  their  wooden  backs  perfectly  vis- 
ible from  behind  or  at  the  side — a  pretense  deli- 
ciously  naive,  as  though  she  said :  * '  I  am  putting 
a  lovely  front  of  concrete  where  you  will  see  it 
first,  because  I  think  it  will  please  you!"  And  it 
does. 

Her  insistence  upon  loading  your  pockets  with 
pounds  of  silver  cartwheels,  instead  of  few  dol- 
lar bills,  is  not  quite  so  enchanting — but  maybe 
when  your  muscles  and  pocket  linings  become  used 
to  the  strain,  you  learn  to  like  her  silver  habits 
too. 

And  in  her  methods  of  building  she  has  no 
"fashionable  section,"  but  mixes  smart  and 
211 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

squalid  with  a  method  of  strange  confusion  pe- 
culiar to  herself.  The  value  and  desirability  of 
the  land  is  entirely  proportionate  to  the  altitude 
or  view,  and  not  to  convenience  of  location  or 
neighborhood.  On  the  top  of  each  and  every  hill, 
on  the  "view  side,"  perches  Mr.  Millionaire.  If 
the  hill  slopes  down  gently,  the  wealth  of  his  neigh- 
bors decreases  gently  also,  but  as  the  descent  is 
likely  to  be  almost  a  cliff,  Mr.  Poorman's  shanty, 
often  as  not,  clings  to  Mr.  Eichman's  cellar  door. 

And  then  there  are  her  queer-looking  cable-cars 
— with  " outside"  seats  facing  the  sidewalk,  as  in 
an  Irish  jaunting  car — pulled  up  and  let  down  the 
terrific  hills  on  their  wire  ropes.  The  cable-car 
was,  in  fact,  originated  on  the  hills  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

Many  streets  are  so  steep  that  they  have  a 
stairway  cut  in  the  sidewalk,  and  in  the  center,  the 
crevices  between  the  cobblestones  are  green  with 
grass.  The  streets  are  divided  into  those  you  can 
drive  up  and  those  you  can't.  In  motoring  to  an 
address  ten  blocks  away,  instead  of  driving  there 
directly  as  in  any  other  city  in  the  world,  you 
have  to  take  a  route  not  unlike  the  pattern  of  a 
wall  of  Troy. 

Also,  as  there  are  scarcely  any  names  posted  up 
on  any  corners,  and  the  traffic  policemen  order  you 
about  for  no  seeming  reason  but  their  own  sweet 
will,  it  is  just  as  well  for  a  stranger  to  allow  twice 
as  much  time  to  get  anywhere  as  would  ordinarily 
be  necessary.  We  were  trying  to  go  to  the  Hotel 
212 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

St.  Francis  for  lunch.  "You  turn  down  Post 
Street,"  said  one  policeman.  We  certainly  made 
no  mistake  in  the  name  of  that  street.  "When  we 
got  to  it  and  tried  to  go  down,  another  shouted  at 
us,  "What's  the  matter  with  you!  Don't  you 
know  you  can't  go  down  Post  Street!"  I  don't  yet 
know  the  solution  unless  there  is  one  section  of 
Post  Street  you  can  go  down,  and  another  section 
that  you  can't.  But  I  do  know,  however,  that  at 
the  end  of  a  little  while  you  get  so  confused  turn- 
ing around  three  times  for  every  block  that  you 
go  forward,  that  your  sense  of  direction  seems 
very  like  that  of  a  waltzing  mouse  in  a  glass 
bowl. 

One  thing,  though,  delays  are  not  as  annoying  as 
they  would  seem.  Calif ornians  take  life  too  tran- 
quilly to  begrudge  you  a  little  while  spent  in  try- 
ing to  solve  the  hill  and  traffic  mysteries.  In  fact, 
nothing  could  harass  or  annoy  anyone  long  in  a 
land  where  the  spirit  of  gladness  is  the  first  and 
only  thing  that  counts. 

Where  giantism,  self-inflation,  or  personal  am- 
bition plays  a  prominent  part  in  the  characteris- 
tics of  other  states,  the  Californians  are  merely 
happy — happy  about  everything,  happy  all  the 
time.  Their  optimism  is  as  unfailingly  golden  as 
their  metal,  their  fruits,  their  grain,  their  poppies. 

In  a  corner  of  the  orange  country,  lava  poured 
over  the  soil.  Were  they  down-hearted?  Not 
a  bit. 

"For  all  we  know,"  said  they,  "we  may  find  we 
213 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

can  grow  something  new  in  it  that  we've  never 
tried  before." 

In  Pasadena  the  heat  was  stifling.  It  required 
all  the  breath  I  could  muster  to  ask  weakly  of  a 
land  owner : 

"Do  you  think  there  is  any  likelihood  of  more 
of  this  weather?" 

'  *  Yes.  Oh,  yes,  indeed, ' '  he  beamed.  "  It  is  gen- 
erally cool  until  the  first  of  May,  and  then  it  gets 
pleasant  just  like  this." 

In  San  Francisco  it  rained  all  through  May 
without  ceasing.  "Too  wonderful!"  they  said. 
"The  Eastern  tourists  will  see  the  country  so 
beautifully  washed. ' ' 

But  we  have  heard  that  their  gladness  had  one 
vulnerability,  they  could  ^not  bear  to  speak  of 
earthquakes.  Therefore,  curious  as  I  was  to  hear 
something  about  them,  I  did  not  dare  to  ask. 
Prinking  my  coffee  one  morning  in  San  Mateo 
where  we  were  stopping  with  the  B.  's  my  bed  sud- 
denly shook  so  that  my  coffee  spilled.  In  a  mo- 
ment Mrs.  B.  rushed  into  my  room  in  joyful 
excitement : 

"Did  you  feel  the  earthquake?  Wasn't  it  a 
wonderful  one !  I  was  afraid  you  would  go  back  to 
New  York  and  never  know  what  they  are  like !" 

All  that  day  everyone  we  saw  spoke  of  the  earth- 
quake in  much  the  same  way,  as  though  some  de- 
lightful happening  had  occurred  for  our  special 
benefit.  Instead  of  shying  away  from  the  subject 
they  reveled  in  it;  advised  us  if  ever  we  felt  a 
214 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

severe  one  to  run  and  stand  in  the  doorframe. 
Even  if  the  whole  house  conies  down  the  doorways, 
it  seems,  are  perfectly  safe.  Then  they  drove  us 
to  a  beautiful  estate  that  was  directly  over  a  fault 
and  to  prove  what  a  real  earthquake  could  do,  they 
showed  us  a  stone  wall  that  had  been  shifted  four 
feet,  and  an  orchard  of  trees  that  had  been  picked 
tip  bodily  and  planted  elsewhere.  They  added  cas- 
ually that  the  house,  of  course,  was  new,  the  other 
having  been  quaked  to  the  ground. 

But  "How  terrible,"  exclaimed  nearly  everyone 
to  us,  "to  live  as  you  do  in  a  country  where  they 
have  thunderstorms!" 

There  is,  however,  one  small  matter  that  upsets 
them  curiously.  To  us,  it  was  a  phenomenon  not 
unlike  the  elephant's  terror  of  a  mouse.  Never 
call  Californians  Westerners.  They  get  really 
excited  and  indignant  if  you  do.  They  live  on  the 
Pacific  Coast — not  in  the  West.  For  my  own  part 
they  are  children  of  the  golden  sun ;  call  them  what 
you  please ! 

I  think  it  is  a  rather  universal  habit  to  dismiss 
any  unusual  features  in  the  lives  of  others  by  say- 
ing :  * '  Oh,  but  they  are  a  different  sort  of  people 
from  us!" 

When  we  first  crossed  the  Eio  Grande  and  heard 
of  two  women  who  had  gone  out  camping  in  the 
Eocky  Mountains  alone,  and  when  later  we  saw 
a  group  of  unmistakably  well-bred  people — each 
riding  astride  of  a  little  burro  and  each  leading  a 
215 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

second  burro  laden  with  camping  things,  we 
thought,  "What  an  extraordinary  people  West- 
erners are !  We  are  brothers  and  yet  it  is  impos- 
sible to  believe  that  we  spring  from  the  same 
stock."  Later  on,  however,  we  learned  the  differ- 
ence was  geographical  and  not  ethnological.  And 
the  realization  came  this  way : 

A  Mrs.  E.  used  to  be  the  most  nervous  and  timid 
woman  I  ever  knew.  Six  years  ago,  living  on  Long 
Island  with  twelve  servants  in  her  house,  she  used 
to  lock  herself  in  her  bedroom  immediately  after 
dinner  if  her  husband  was  out,  because  she  was 
too  nervous  to  sit  in  the  front  part  of  the  ground 
floor  alone.  I  remember  distinctly  that  she  once 
left  a  dinner  party  at  about  half -past  nine  be- 
cause, with  her  own  coachman  driving,  she  was 
afraid  to  go  late  at  night  through  the  woods. 
About  four  years  ago  her  husband  and  she  moved 
to  California.  Last  year  she  bought  a  ranch  ten 
miles  from  the  nearest  station,  and  seven  miles 
from  the  nearest  neighbor.  And  this  same  woman 
who  used  to  be  scared  to  death  in  a  house  full  of 
people,  with  neighbors  all  around,  now  sleeps 
tranquilly  in  a  ground-floor  bungalow  with  every 
door  unlocked,  every  window  open,  and  her  serv- 
ants' quarters  half  a  mile  away.  She  drives  her 
own  motor  everywhere,  and  thinks  nothing  of  din- 
ing with  a  neighbor  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  dis- 
tant, and  coming  home  at  midnight  through 
Mexican  settlements  alone! 

Another  New  York  girl,  Pauline  M.,  who  cer- 
216 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

tainly  was  as  spoiled  as  pampering  could  make 
her,  went  once  long  ago  to  a  Maine  hotel  and 
never  stopped  talking  about  how  awful  the  rooms 
were  and  how  starved  she  was  because  of  the  hor- 
rible food.  Twenty  years  ago  she  married  a  Cali- 
fornian  and  her  house  in  San  Francisco  is  as  lux- 
urious as  a  house  can  well  be,  but  when  we  ar- 
rived she  had  gone  into  the  mountains  to  camp, 
and  telegraphed  us  to  join  her.  We  did  not  do 
that,  but  we  motored  out  to  lunch.  Having  always 
associated  her  with  Callot  dresses  and  marble  bal- 
ustrades, I  expected  the  make-believe  "  roughing 
it"  of  the  big  camps  in  the  Adirondacks.  As  we 
arrived  at  a  small  collection  of  portable  houses 
dumped  in  a  clearing  we  saw  our  fastidious  friend 
in  heavy  solid  boots,  a  drill  skirt,  flannel  shirt, 
kneeling  beside  a  campfire  cooking  flapjacks.  She 
used  to  be  beautiful  but  rather  anemic ;  her  saun- 
tering, languid  walk  seemed  always  to  be  drag- 
ging a  five-yard  train,  and  her  face  was  set  with 
a  bored  expression.  The  metamorphosis  was  star- 
tling. She  looked  younger  than  she  had  at  twenty 
and  she  put  more  life  and  energy  in  her  waving  of 
her  frying-pan  in  greeting  than  she  would  have  put 
in  a  whole  New  York  season  of  how-do-you-do's. 

Even  the  Orientals  seem  affected  by  the  spirit 
of  this  land's  gladness.  The  Chinaman  of  San 
Francisco  is  a  big,  smiling  and  apparently  gay- 
hearted  individual — none  the  less  complex  and 
mysterious  for  all  that. 

Frankly,  the  people  out  here  who  fascinate  me 
217 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

most  of  all  are  the  Chinese.  From  the  two  or  three 
that  we  have  seen  in  friends'  houses,  a  Chinese 
servant  must  be  about  as  easy  to  manage  as  the 
wind  of  heaven;  you  might  as  well  try  to  dig  a 
hole  in  the  surface  of  the  sea  as  to  make  any  im- 
pression on  him.  He  is  going  to  do  exactly  what 
he  pleases  and  in  the  way  he  pleases.  Of  course, 
his  way  may  be  your  way,  in  which  case  you  are 
lucky.  Also  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  his  faith- 
fulness and  devotion,  when  he  is  devoted,  is  quite 
as  unalterable  as  his  way.  Of  the  two  or  three  in- 
dividual ones  that  we  have  seen  in  friends'  houses, 
one  at  least  will  never  be  forgotten  by  any  of  us. 
His  serene  round  face  was  the  personification  of 
docility,  and  he  moved  about  in  his  costume  of  dull 
green  brocade  like  some  lovely  animate  figure  of 
purely  decorative  value.  Why  have  we  nothing 
in  our  houses  that  are  such  a  delight  to  the  eye? 

I  have  forgotten  what  we  had  for  luncheon — • 
caviare  canape,  I  think,  and  with  it  finger  bowls. 

"No,  Chang,  not  finger  bowls  yet,"  I  heard  Mr. 
K.  say.  So  Chang  removed  them,  only  to  bring 
them  back  again  with  the  next  course. 

"There  is  no  use,"  laughed  Mr.  K.  to  me,  "he 
will  keep  bringing  them  back  no  matter  how  often 
I  tell  him  to  take  them  away.  He  always  does, 
and  we  just  have  to  have  them  from  the  beginning 
through. ' ' 

Mr.  K.  carved  on  the  table — Chang  probably  in- 
sisted on  that  too — and  asking  me  whether  I  pre- 
ferred dark  or  white,  put  the  breast  of  a  broiled 
218 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

chicken  on  a  plate.  The  Celestial  one  in  green 
brocade  instead  of  passing  it  to  me,  deftly  picked 
up  a  fork,  placed  the  chicken  breast  back  on  the 
platter,  took  a  second  joint  instead,  and  saying 
severely : 

"Him  likee  leg  pliece  I"  carried  the  plate  to  Mr. 
K.'s  mother.  Company  or  no  company,  Chang 
served  her  always  first. 

Also  the  K.  's  told  me  that  Mrs.  K.,  senior,  was 
the  only  member  of  the  family  whose  personal 
wishes  he  invariably  respected.  He  is  also  the 
slave  of  the  K.  baby,  but  to  the  rest  of  the  family 
he  behaves  exactly  as  a  chow,  or  a  Persian  cat, 
or  any  other  purely  decorative  independent  house- 
hold belonging. 

China  is  the  place  for  old  women  to  live  in! 
They  receive  all  the  attention  and  consideration 
that  is  shown  in  our  own  country  only  to  the  most 
young  and  beautiful. 

Mrs.  S.,  whose  husband  was  for  many  years 
charge  d'affaires  in  the  American  legation  in 
Pekin,  is  the  most  enthusiastic  champion  of  every- 
thing Chinese.  "If  a  Chinaman  is  staying  under 
your  roof,  you  need  have  no  uneasiness  on  the  sub- 
ject of  his  good  intentions,"  she  said  this  morning. 
"No  Chinaman  will  stay  in  your  employ  if  he  does 
not  like  you."  As  an  example,  she  told  us  that 
while  she  was  in  Pekin  the  head  boy  of  another  le- 
gation was  taken  to  task  about  something  in  front 
of  some  of  the  under  servants — a  situation  of  great 
indignity.  The  occurrence  happened  in  the  midst 
219 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

of  the  serving  of  a  meal.  The  Chinaman  quietly 
laid  down  the  dish  he  was  holding  and  left  the 
room  and  the  house.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  he 
presented  himself  before  Mrs.  S.  and  announced 
that  he  had  come  to  live  with  them.  For  nothing 
would  he  go  back  to  the  other  legation,  and  having 
elected  Mrs.  S.  as  his  tai  tai  (lady)  in  her  particu- 
lar service  he  stayed.  One  New  Year's  he  pre- 
sented her  with  a  miniature  pig,  stunted  in  the 
way  that  the  Japanese  stunt  trees  or  else  just  a 
little  freak.  It  was  only  a  foot  long,  but  full 
grown,  and  as  black  as  though  it  had  been  dipped 
in  shoe  polish. 

One  day  in  San  Francisco,  I  went  out  shopping 
in  the  Chinese  quarter  with  Mrs.  S.  The  sensation 
may  be  imagined  of  an  American  lady  suddenly 
speaking  perfectly  fluent  Manchu  Chinese.  Such 
a  grinning  and  gesticulating  and  smiling  as  went 
on!  And  the  whole  neighborhood  gathered  sud- 
denly into  the  discourse. 

Understanding  not  a  single  syllable,  I  could 
only  watch  the  others,  but  even  more  than  ever, 
they  fascinated  me. 

In  San  Francisco  we  rushed  early  each  morning 
to  the  Exposition  and  spent  no  time  anywhere  else. 
Every  now  and  then  someone  said  to  Pauline,  with 
whom  we  were  stopping,  the  mysterious  sentence : 
"Have  you  taken  them  to  Gump's?"  And  her 
answer:  "Why  no,  I  haven't!"  was  always  ut- 
tered in  that  abashed  apologetic  tone  that  acknowl- 
edges a  culpable  forgetfulness.  Finally  one  day 
220 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

instead  of  driving  out  towards  the  Exposition 
grounds  we  turned  towards  the  heart  of  the  city. 

11  Where  are  we  going?"  I  asked. 

* '  To  Gump 's ! "  triumphantly. 

'  *  To  Gump 's  ?  Of  all  the  queer  sounding  things, 
what  is  to  Gump 's  ? " 

''Our  most  celebrated  shop.  You  really  must 
not  leave  San  Francisco  without  seeing  their  Japa- 
nese and  Chinese  things." 

Shades  of  dullness,  thought  I,  as  if  there  were 
not  shops  enough  in  New  York !  As  for  Oriental 
treasures,  I  was  sure  there  were  more  on  Fifth 
Avenue  at  home  than  there  are  left  in  Asia.  But 
Pauline  being  determined,  there  was  nothing  for 
us  to  do  but,  as  E.M.  said,  "to  Gump  it!" 

Feeling  very  much  bored  at  being  kept  away 
from  the  Exposition,  I  entered  a  store  reminiscent 
of  a  dozen  in  New  York,  walked  down  an  aisle 
lined  on  either  side  with  commonplace  chinaware. 
My  first  sensation  of  boredom  was  changing  to  ir- 
ritability. Then  we  entered  an  elevator  and  in  the 
next  instant  I  took  back  everything  I  had  been 
thinking.  It  was  as  though  we  had  been  trans- 
ported, not  only  across  the  Pacific,  but  across  cen- 
turies of  time.  Through  the  apartments  of  an 
ancient  Chinese  palace,  we  walked  into  a  Japanese 
temple,  and  again  into  a  room  in  a  modern  Japa- 
nese house.  You  do  not  need  more  than  a  first 
glance  to  appreciate  why  they  lead  visitors  to  a 
shop  with  the  unpromising  name  of  Gump.  I  am 
not  sure  that  the  name  does  not  heighten  the  effect. 
221 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

If  it  were  called  the  Chinese  Palace,  or  the  Temple 
of  Japan,  or  something  like  that,  it  would  be  like 
telling  the  answer  before  asking  the  conundrum. 
As  in  calling  at  a  palace,  too,  strangers,  distin- 
guished ones  only,  are  asked  to  write  their  names 
in  the  visitor's  book. 

In  this  museum-shop  each  room  has  been  assem- 
bled as  a  setting  for  the  things  that  are  shown  in 
it.  Old  Chinese  porcelains,  blue  and  white,  sang 
de  bceuf,  white,  apple-green,  cucumber-green  and 
peacock-blue,  are  shown  in  a  room  of  the  Ming 
Period  in  ebony  and  gold  lacquer. 

The  windows  of  all  the  rooms,  whether  in  the 
walls  or  ceiling,  are  of  translucent  porcelain  in 
the  Chinese,  or  paper  in  the  Japanese ;  which  pro- 
duces an  indescribable  illusion  of  having  left  the 
streets  of  San  Francisco  thousands  of  miles,  in- 
stead of  merely  a  few  feet,  behind  you. 

The  room  devoted  to  jades  and  primitives  has 
night-blue  walls  overlaid  with  gold  lacquer  lat- 
tices and  brass  carvings  and  in  it  the  most  won- 
derful treasures  of  all.  They  are  kept  hidden 
away  in  silk-lined  boxes,  and  are  brought  out  and 
shown  to  you,  Chinese  fashion,  one  at  a  time,  so 
that  none  shall  detract  from  the  other.  We  wanted 
to  steal  a  small  white  marble  statuette  of  a  boy 
on  a  horse.  A  thing  of  beauty  and  spirit  very 
Greek,  yet  pure  Chinese  that  dated  back  to  the 
oldest  Tang  Dynasty!  There  was  also  a  silver, 
that  was  originally  green,  luster  bronze  of  the 
Ham  Period,  two  thousand  years  old,  and  a  sacri- 
222 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

ficial  bronze  pot  belonging  to  the  Chow  Dynasty, 
B.C.  1125.  The  patina,  or  green  rust  of  age,  on 
these  two  pieces  was  especially  beautiful.  I  also 
much  admired  a  carved  rhinoceros  horn,  but  found 
it  was  merely  Chien  Lung,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  old,  which  in  that  room  was  much  too  mod- 
ern to  be  important. 

In  one  of  the  Japanese  rooms  there  were  dec- 
orated paper  walls  held  up  by  light  bamboo 
frames,  amber  paper  shoji  instead  of  windows, 
and  the  floors  covered  with  tatami,  the  Japanese 
floor  mats,  two  inches  thick.  You  sit  on  the  floor 
as  in  Japan  and  drink  tea,  while  silks  of  every 
variety  are  brought  to  you. 

We  saw  three  rugs  of  the  Ming  Dynasty  that 
are  probably  the  oldest  rugs  extant.  The  most 
lovely  one  was  of  yellow  ground,  with  Ho  birds 
in  blue.  And  there  was  an  ice-cooler  of  cloisonne, 
Ming  Period.  They  brought  the  ice  from  the 
mountains  and  cooled  the  imperial  palace — years 
ago.  Yet  to  hear  Europeans  talk,  you'd  almost  be 
led  to  believe  that  ice  is  an  American  invention. 

We  were  shown  old  Chinese  velvet  wedding- 
skirts  and  a  tapestry  of  blues,  with  silver  storks 
and  clouds  of  an  embroidery  so  fine  that  its 
stitches  could  be  seen  only  through  a  magnifying 
glass,  and  poison  plates  belonging  to  the  Emperor 
Ming  that  were  supposed  to  change  color  if  any 
food  injurious  to  His  Majesty  were  served  on 
them. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  things  was  a  Cara- 
223 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

mandel  screen  of  the  Kang  Hai  Period,  in  a  cor- 
ridor that  it  shared  only  with  an  enormous  lacquer 
image  of  the  Buddha. 

We  were  told  that  a  rather  famous  collector 
went  out  to  see  the  Fair.  On  his  first  day  in  San 
Francisco — he  was  stopping  at  the  St.  Francis 
Hotel  which  is  only  a  stone's  throw  across  the 
square — he  went  idly  into  this  most  alluring  of 
shops  and  became  so  interested  he  stayed  all  day. 
The  next  day  he  did  the  same,  and  the  third  morn- 
ing found  him  there  again.  Finally  he  said  with 
a  sigh:  " Having  come  to  see  the  Exposition,  I 
must  go  out  there  this  afternoon  and  look  at  it, 
as  I  have  to  go  back  to  New  York  tomorrow." 

I  don't  know  that  this  is  an  average  point  of 
view,  but  it  is  a  fact  that  was  vouched  for,  and 
also  that  his  check  to  the  detaining  shop  ran  into 
very  high  figures. 

Of  the  suburbs  of  San  Francisco,  Burlingame, 
I  suppose,  compares  most  nearly  to  Newport,  of 
our  Eastern  coast,  Sewickley  of  Pittsburgh  or 
Broadmoore  of  Colorado  Springs.  It  is  a  com- 
munity of  big  handsome  places  occupied  by  the 
rich  and  fashionable.  It  strikes  you,  though,  how 
much  simpler  people  are  in  habits,  in  taste,  in  at- 
titude, than  in  the  East.  Suggest  anything  on  a 
house-party  in  Burlingame  or  San  Mateo,  or  Boss, 
and  instead  of  being  answered:  "What  for?"  or 
"Oh,  not  just  now!"  the  response  is  a  prompt  and 
enthusiastic, ' '  Fine !  Come  on ! " 
224 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

Young  women  and  men  in  San  Francisco, 
though  many  have  more  money  to  spend  than  they 
know  what  to  do  with,  demand  less  in  the  way  of 
provided  entertainment  than  New  York  children 
in  their  earliest  teens.  A  dozen  of  San  Francis- 
co's most  gilded  youths  stood  around  a  piano  and 
sang  nearly  all  one  evening.  After  a  while  some- 
one played,  and  the  rest  danced.  At  Newport  they 
would  have  danced,  more  likely  than  anything  else, 
but  the  music,  even  if  thought  of  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, would  probably  have  been  by  an  orchestra. 
One  afternoon  they  pulled  candy,  and  every  day 
they  swim  in  someone's  pool.  Today  at  the  J.'s, 
tomorrow  at  the  H.  's.  The  girls  play  polo  as  well 
as  the  men  and  all  of  them,  of  course,  drive  their 
own  cars. 

In  the  J.'s  garden  they  have  ladders  against 
the  cherry  trees,  and  everyone  wanders  out  there 
and  eats  and  eats  cherries — and  such  cherries !  In 
the  first  place  we  haven 't  any  such  cherries,  and  in 
the  second,  can  you  imagine  a  group  of  New- 
port women  climbing  up  ladders  and  clinging 
to  branches  rather  than  let  the  gardeners  gather 
them? 

But  it  isn  't  the  standing  on  cherry-tree  ladders, 
or  the  doing  of  any  actual  thing,  that  makes  the 
essential  difference  between  the  people  of  the  At- 
lantic and  the  Pacific  Coast.  It  is  the  land  itself, 
perhaps — the  sunshine,  the  climate,  that  pours  a 
rejuvenating  radiance  upon  the  spirit  of  resident 
and  visitor  alike. 

225 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

Even  at  the  end  of  a  little  while  you  find  your- 
self beginning  to  understand  something  of  the  op- 
pressive grayness  that  settles  upon  the  spirit  of 
every  Calif ornian  when  away  from  home.  Which 
reminds  me  of  a  young  Italian  girl  whom  I  found 
one  day  crying  her  heart  out  on  a  bench  in  the 
Public  Gardens  in  Boston.  To  me  Beacon  Street 
is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  streets  I  have  ever 
seen,  especially  where  the  old  and  most  lovely 
houses  face  the  green  of  the  Public  Gardens,  and 
the  figure  of  this  sobbing  girl  was  doubly  woeful. 
To  every  question  I  could  think  of  she  shook  her 
head  and  sobbed,  * '  No. ' '  She  had  not  lost  anyone, 
no  one  had  deserted  her,  and  she  was  not  hungry, 
or  cold,  or  houseless,  or  penniless.  l  i  But,  my  dear, 
what  is  the  matter?"  I  implored.  Finally,  almost 
strangling  with  tears,  she  stammered :  *  *  B-boston 
is  so  u-ugly!" 

Mrs.  M.,  a  Calif  ornian  married  to  a  New  Yorker, 
had  seemed  to  us  rather  negative,  a  listless  silent 
figure  who  trailed  through  New  York  drawing- 
rooms  more  like  a  wraith  than  a  live  woman.  We 
happened  to  be  at  her  mother's  when  this  pale, 
frail,  young  person  returned  home  for  a  visit  and 
came  very  much  to  life !  She  hung  cherries  on  her 
ears,  covered  her  hat,  and  filled  her  belt  with  pop- 
pies, and  came  running  up  the  terraces  of  their 
very  wonderful  gardens,  her  arms  outstretched 
and  shouting  at  the  top  of  her  voice : 

"California,  my  California!  I'm  home,  home, 
home!" 

226 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

Does  anyone  ever  feel  like  that  about  New  York! 
I  wonder!  Does  anyone  really  love  its  million- 
aires' palaces,  its  flashing  Broadway,  its  canyon 
streets,  its  teeming  thoroughfares,  its  subway 
holes-in-the-ground  into  which  men  dive  like 
moles,  emerging  at  the  other  end  in  an  office  bur- 
row— sometimes  without  coming  up  into  the  out- 
doors at  all?  Or  are  the  sentiments  composed 
more  truly  of  pride  that  has  much  egotism  in  the 
consciousness  of  more  square  feet  of  masonry 
crowded  into  fewer  square  feet  of  ground;  more 
well-dressed  women,  more  automobiles;  bigger 
crowds — sprucer-looking  crowds;  more  electric 
signs ;  more  things  going  on ;  more  business ;  more 
amusements;  more  making  and  spending;  more 
losing  and  breaking,  than,  one  might  almost  say, 
all  the  other  cities  of  the  world  together? 

All  of  which  makes  typical  New  Yorkers  con- 
temptuous of  and  dissatisfied  with  every  other 
city.  But  as  to  whether  they  love  it,  as  the  people 
of  Chicago  or  San  Francisco  do — do  they?  Do 
we? 

For  anyone  to  look  out  upon  New  York's  im- 
mensity and  spread  out  his  arms  and  say:  "My 
city!  My  home!"  would  be  almost  like  looking 
overhead  and  saying,  "My  sky,  my  stars!"  Al- 
most,  wouldn't  it? 

I  wanted  to  lead  up  to  the  story  of  a  California 
bride 's  impression  of  New  York.  Instead,  of  which 
I  seem  to  have  arrived  in  New  York,  but  left 
the  bride  at  home ! 

227 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

The  story  was  told  me  by  Mr.  B.,  himself  a  New 
Yorker,  but  whose  wife  and  stepson  were  Califor- 
nians.  Last  winter  the  stepson  brought  his  wife 
to  New  York  on  their  wedding-trip.  This  is  what 
Mr.  B.  told  me : 

"She  had  everything  we  could  give  her,  but 
spent  the  afternoon  at  matinees  and  galleries  and 
shopping;  her  evenings  at  the  play  or  the  opera 
and  a  cabaret  afterward,  and  her  mornings  in  bed. 
Finally  I  said:  'Why  don't  you  want  us  to  have 
some  dinners  for  you,  so  that  you  can  meet  some 
people?  You  can't  know  much  about  a  city  if  you 
meet  no  one. ' 

"  'Oh,'  she  said,  'the  people  look  so  queer.' 

"  'How,  queer?' 

"  'Why,  so — so  well-dressed  and  so  horrid — 
their  faces  aren't  kind,  and  they  don't  seem  to 
smile  at  all.' 

"But  I  insisted  on  taking  her  up  Fifth  Avenue 
to  see  the  fine  houses.  No  enthusiasm.  Finally  I 
said: 

"  'But  surely,  the  V.  house  is  wonderful!' 

"  'I  suppose  so,'  she  said,  'but  like  all  the  rest, 
it  is  just  stone  and  mortar  stuck  up  in  a  crowded, 
noisy  street,  and  the  newspapers  blow  up  around 
the  door.' 

"Then  she  stopped,  and  seeing  how  disap- 
pointed I  was,  patted  me  on  the  arm :  '  You  know, ' 
she  said,  'I  was  born  and  grew  up  in  an  orange 
grove,  and  you  people  stifle  me.  I  want  to  go 
home.'  " 

228 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  FAIR 

THE  Fair  will  be  over  when  this  account  is 
published,  but  it  was  so  dominant  a  part 
of  San  Francisco  at  the  time  we — and  all 
the  thousands  of  others — were  there  I  haven't  the 
heart  to  cut  the  pages  out. 

With  merely  a  phrase,  you  can  make  a  picture  of 
the  little  fair  at  San  Diego;  cloister-like  gray 
buildings  with  clumps  of  dense  green,  and  a  vivid 
stroke  of  blue  and  orange.  But  to  visualize  the 
Pan-American  Exposition  in  a  few  sentences  is 
impossible.  You  could  begin  its  description  from 
a  hundred  different  points  and  miss  the  best  one, 
you  can  say  one  thing  about  it  and  the  next  mo- 
ment find  you  were  quite  wrong.  In  the  shade  or 
fog,  it  was  a  city  of  baked  earth  color,  oxy- 
dized  with  any  quantity  of  terra  cotta ;  in  the  sun 
it  was  deep  cream  glowing  with  light.  If  you 
thought  of  half  the  domes  as  brown,  and  others 
as  faded  green,  you  found,  the  next  time  you  saw 
them,  that  they  looked  like  a  bit  of  the  sky  itself, 
and  the  brown  ones  glimmered  a  dull,  yet  living, 
rose. 

Seeing  it  first  from  a  distance,  coming  down 
upon  it  from  the  hill  streets  of  San  Francisco,  you 
229 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

saw  a  biscuit-colored  city  with  terra-cotta  roofs, 
green  domes  and  blue.  Beyond  it  the  wide  waters 
of  a  glorious  bay,  rimmed  with  far  gray-green 
mountains.  But  you  were  luckiest  if  you  saw  it 
first  when  the  sun  was  painting  it  for  you,  which 
was  invariably  unless  there  was  a  fog,  or  perhaps 
you  looked  down  upon  it  at  night  when  the  scin- 
tillating central  point,  the  Tower  of  Jewels,  looked 
like  a  diamond  and  turquoise  wedding-cake  and 
behind  it  an  aurora  of  prismatic-colored  search, 
lights — the  most  thrilling  illumination  possible  to 
imagine. 

Or  entering  one  of  its  many  gates  you  wan- 
dered like  an  ant  through  bewildering  chaos.  Not 
that  it  lacked  plan;  its  architectural  balance  was 
one  of  the  most  noteworthy  things  about  it.  But 
there  were  so  many  courts,  so  much  detail.  Grad- 
ually, you  noticed  that  there  were  eight  great  exhi- 
bition palaces,  and  a  ninth,  the  Palace  of  the  Fine 
Arts,  like  a  half-circle  at  the  end.  You  perceived 
that  the  buildings  of  the  separate  States  and  for- 
eign nations  trailed  off  like  a  suburb  at  one  end, 
and  that  the  Zone  was  a  straight  street  also  by  it- 
self. Among  the  thousands  of  embellishments, 
you  noticed  perhaps  the  lovely  statues  of  Bor- 
glum's  "Pioneer,"  Eraser's  "End  of  the  Trail," 
Daniel  Chester  French's  "Genius  of  Creation," 
the  adventurous  bowman  on  the  top  of  the  Column 
of  Progress,  nor  could  you  miss  the  nations  of 
the  West  and  East,  and  the  figures  of  the  rising 
and  the  setting  sun. 

230 


THE  FAIR 

The  murals  of  Brangwyn  no  chair  boy  would  let 
you  pass.  Each  one  pushed  you  in  front,  and 
backing  off  to  give  you  the  proper  distance,  de- 
clared that  they  cost  five  thousand  dollars  "each 
one." 

We  were  admiring  their  vital  animation,  for 
they  pulsated  fairly  with  energy  and  life,  as  well 
as  color,  when  suddenly  from  the  sublime  to  the 
ridiculous,  E.  M.  remarked:  "That's  curious! 
The  men  have  just  taken  their  shirts  off."  Then 
Celia  and  I  wondered  too,  why  every  male  figure 
was  brown  as  a  berry  as  high  as  a  shirt  sleeve 
would  roll  up,  and  white  as  a  person  always  shel- 
tered from  the  air  over  all  the  rest  of  his  body? 

We  also  wondered  about  the  four  women  who 
clung  to  the  corners  of  gigantic  boxes  on  top  of 
the  beautiful  Fine  Arts  colonnade.  Each  of 
the  boxes  suggested  the  coffin  of  a  very  fat  Mor- 
mon and  his  four  wives  weeping  for  him.  There 
was  something  hidden  up  there  that  the  cling- 
ing women  were  afraid  to  take  their  gaze  away 
from,  but  what  it  was  we  had  no  idea.  All  of 
which  levity  reminds  me  that  in  Paris  I  watched 
two  tourists  as  they  hurried  eagerly  down  the  long 
gallery  toward  the  Venus  de  Milo.  Arrived  at 
its  base  one  of  them  leaned  over  the  guard  rail, 
stared  at  the  marble,  and  exclaimed : 

"Why,  Gussie,  she's  all  pock-marked!" 

My  criticism  of  a  work  as  notable  as  the  Pan- 
American  Exposition  is  probably  much  like  the 
above.  Beautiful  as  much  of  it  is,  I  wish  they  had 
231 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

left  a  few  unfilled  niches,  a  few  plain  surfaces, 
but  they  are  filling  them  fuller  every  day.  When 
we  first  came,  the  little  kneeling  figure  on  her 
peninsular  front  of  the  Fine  Arts  Temple  and  her 
reflection  in  the  lagoon  gave  an  impression  of  a 
dream.  While  we  were  there,  they  filled  every 
archway  with  imposing  sculptures  until  it  looks 
merely  like  a  museum. 

I  found  myself  driving  around  and  mentally  tak- 
ing things  away.  The  lovely  old  eucalyptus  trees, 
the  only  planting  that  was  on  the  grounds  before 
the  Fair,  seemed  almost  to  have  heard  me,  for  they 
were  not  to  be  kept  from  taking  everything  off 
that  they  could,  and  untidily  strewing  the  ground 
with  their  discarded  clothing. 

One  thing,  however,  was  hard  to  understand 
or  forgive;  of  all  the  courts,  especially  at  night, 
the  one  which  had  the  most  imaginative  appeal, 
was  the  Court  of  Abundance.  At  the  four 
corners  of  a  square  pool  were  standards  of  erect 
green  cobras  holding  brasiers  filled  with  leaping 
flames  of  tongues  of  silk  blown  upward  by  con- 
cealed fans  and  red  and  yellow  lights ;  in  the  center 
of  the  pool  was  the  Fountain  of  the  Earth,  a  work 
of  highly  imaginative  beauty  in  which,  above  four 
panels  of  symbolic  figures  in  high  relief,  the  globe 
of  the  earth  was  set  in  a  rose-colored  glow  sur- 
rounded by  a  mystic  vapor,  made  by  a  gentle  es- 
capement of  steam,  and  then  at  one  side  they  had 
planted  two  huge  Maltese  cross  standards  of  bla- 
tant electric  lights ! 

232 


THE  FAIR 

On  the  subject  of  the  exhibits,  everyone  has  read 
about  the  Ford  cars  that  are  assembled  on  a  con- 
veyor. Beginning  at  one  end  as  pieces  of  metal 
and  running  off  at  the  other  under  their  own 
power.  That  was  undoubtedly  the  most  interest- 
ing exhibit  to  the  public  in  general,  but  to  many 
others  the  Sperry  Flour  display  was  quite  as  in- 
genious and  if  anything  more  interesting.  They 
had  a  whole  row  of  little  booth  kitchens  to  show 
how  all  the  nations  of  the  world  use  flour. 

A  camper  tossed  flapjacks  over  a  campfire;  a 
Mexican  made  anchillades  and  tomales ;  a  Swede, 
a  Eussian,  a  Chinaman,  a  Hindoo  and  four  or  five 
others  made  their  national  wafers  and  cakes — • 
and  gave  samples  away !  In  the  center  at  a  bigger 
oven  was  baked  home-made  American  bread  and 
cake  and  pies,  of  such  deliciousness  that  everyone 
who  passed  by  looked  as  longingly  as  the  prover- 
bial ragamuffin  in  front  of  a  baker's  window. 

There  was  always  a  crowd,  too,  watching  the 
manufacture  of  white  lead  paint  by  the  Fuller 
Company,  and  going  through  the  staterooms  of 
a  section,  full-sized,  of  an  Atlantic  steamer.  Per- 
haps the  greatest  interest  of  all  was  shown  in  a 
model  United  States  post-office,  with  bridges  cross- 
ing above,  so  people  could  look  down  and  see  all 
the  details  of  sorting  and  distributing. 

One  thing  you  noticed — nearly  all  San  Francis- 
cans were  personally,  or  through  some  members 
of  their  family,  interested  in  the  Fair.  Everyone 
gave  dinners  on  the  Zone,  either  on  the  balcony 
233 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

of  the  Chinese  restaurant — that  had  nothing  Chi- 
nese about  it  except  its  Chinese  ornamentation  on 
the  front  of  the  building— or  at  the  Old  Faithful 
Inn  of  the  Yellowstone.  The  illuminations  at  night 
were  very  soft  and  subdued,  all  the  lanterns  were 
turned  dark  side  to  the  Concourse  and  light  side 
to  the  buildings. 

In  the  Zone  there  were  few  new  attractions,  and 
fewer  worth  seeing.  The  best  were  the  Panama 
Canal,  the  Painted  Desert,  and  Captain,  the  mind- 
reading  horse.  A  woman  mind  reader,  who  took 
turns  with  the  horse,  was  equally  remarkable. 

The  queen  of  the  Samoan  village,  clad  literally 
in  a  short  skirt,  a  Gaby  Deslys  head-dress,  a  string 
of  beads  and  a  dazzling  smile,  had  not  only  great 
audacity  but  a  fascinating  personality  that  was 
literally  bubbling  over  with  the  old  Nick.  We  were 
crazy  about  her,  a  fact  she  saw  perfectly  well,  for 
in  the  garden  afterward,  when  she  had  discarded 
her  gorgeous  head-dress  and  donned  a  modest 
piece  of  sash  tied  around  her  chest,  she  came 
straight  to  us  and  shook  hands  as  a  child  might, 
who,  amidst  a  crowd  of  strangers,  had  singled  out 
a  friend.  That  is  all  there  is  to  tell,  as  we 
couldn't  speak  Samoan,  nor  she  English. 

A  few  months  ago,  in  the  midst  of  a  daring 
flight,  the  wings  of  the  famous  Beachey's  aero- 
plane crumpled  and  plunged  into  the  sea.  The 
aviator  was  strapped  into  his  machine  in  such  a 
way  that,  if  he  still  lived,  he  could  not  free  himself. 

Le  roi  est  mort !    Vive  le  roi ! 
234 


THE  FAIR 

And  the  new  king  was  Art  Smith.  At  eleven 
o'clock  at  night,  the  siren  blew  and  thousands 
crowded  about  the  open  field  to  see  him  start. 
Up  and  up  and  up  he  went  until,  at  several  hun- 
dred feet  up,  a  torch  suddenly  burned  at  the  back 
of  the  machine  which  swept  the  sky,  leaving  a  trail 
of  fire  like  a  comet's  tail,  looped  and  double  looped 
and  curved  and  twisted  and  wrote  "ZONE" 
across  the  sky. 

But  really  to  see  the  feats  of  this  aeronaut  who 
far  exceeded  Beachey's  daring,  you  had  to  go  to 
the  Aviation  Field  on  a  day  when  he  flew  at  five. 
You  saw,  if  you  were  early  enough  to  stand  near 
the  ropes  of  the  enormous  enclosure,  a  young  boy 
apparently,  very  small,  but  stockily  built,  walk 
casually  out  of  the  crowd  standing  back  of  the 
machine,  wave  good-bye  to  a  young  girl,  his  wife, 
and  get  on  a  sort  of  bicycle  on  the  front  of  his  bi- 
plane without  any  apparent  strapping  in,  except 
the  handle  of  the  steering-wheel  that  he  pulled 
close  in  front  of  him.  Across  the  wide  grass  field 
he  gradually  arose,  soared  higher  and  higher,  un- 
til at  half  a  thousand  feet  or  more,  he  dipped  and 
swooped,  then  somersaulted  round  and  round  and 
round  in  a  whirling  ball,  then  flying  upside  down, 
dropped  nearly  over  your  head,  then  arose  again, 
flying  backwards,  sideways,  fell,  arose,  dipped — 
like  a  bird  gone  mad.  At  last  he  came  swooping 
down  and  alit  at  the  end  of  the  great  green  field. 

Very  young  and  small,  Art  Smith  walked  the 
whole  length  of  the  field  between  fifty  thousand 
235 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

shouting,  waving  human  beings.  No  hero  of  the 
[Roman  Stadium,  no  king  coming  to  his  own,  has 
lived  a  greater  moment  than  the  young  birdman 
lived  every  day.  Boyishly  his  mouth  broke  into 
a  wide  smile,  he  doffed  his  cap,  bowing  to  the  right 
and  to  the  left,  and  the  applause  followed  him  in  a 
series  of  roars.  At  the  hangar  his  young  wife  ran 
out  and  kissed  him.  He  had  been  spared  to  her 
once  again. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

"UNENDING  SAMENESS"  WAS   WHAT  THEY  SAID 

OP  course  you  can't  see  the  Fair  in  a  day,  or 
two  days,  or  three.  And  if  you  stay  long 
in  San  Francisco,  you  won't  want  to  leave 
at  all.  Up  and  down  and  around  the  hills,  you  con- 
stantly see  houses  that  you  wish  you  could  imme- 
diately go  and  live  in.  For  in  what  other  city  can 
you  sit  on  a  hillside — only  millionaires  sit  on  hill- 
tops— with  a  view  of  sea  and  mountains  below  and 
beyond  you?  Where  else,  outside  of  a  Maxfield 
Parrish  picture,  is  there  a  city  rising  gayly  on 
steep  sugar-loaf  hills,  and  filled  with  people  whose 
attitude  of  mind  exactly  matches  their  hilltops! 
In  many  other  cities  people  live  in  long  narrow 
canyons  called  streets,  under  a  blanket  of  soot,  sig- 
nifying industry,  and  they  scurry  around  like  ants 
carrying  great  mental  loads,  ten  times  as  big  as 
they  are,  up  steep  hills  of  difficulty,  only  to  tumble 
down  with  them  again.  The  people  of  countless 
other  cities  are  valley  people,  their  perception 
bounded  by  the  high  walls  of  the  skyscrapers  they 
have  themselves  erected  in  the  name  of  progress. 
The  San  Franciscans,  too,  are  building  in  the  val- 
ley towering  office  buildings  in  which  they  work 
as  earnestly  for  their  living  as  any  others  else- 
237 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

where,  but  in  spirit  they  are  still  hill-people,  and 
their  horizon  is  rimmed  not  by  acquisitive  ambi- 
tion, but  by  sea  and  sky. 

When  we  started,  I  had  an  idea  that,  keen 
though  we  were  to  undertake  the  journey,  we 
would  find  it  probably  difficult,  possibly  tiring, 
and  surely  monotonous — to  travel  on  and  on  and 
on  over  the  same  American  road,  through  towns 
that  must  be  more  or  less  replicas,  and  hearing 
always  the  same  language  and  seeing  the  same 
types  of  people  doing  much  the  same  things. 
Everyone  who  had  never  taken  the  trip  assured 
us  that  our  impression  in  the  end  would  be  of  an 
unending  sameness.  Sameness !  Was  there  ever 
such  variety? 

Beginning  with  New  York,  as  that  is  the  point 
we  started  from,  New  York  was  built,  is  building, 
will  ever  be  building  in  huge  blocks  of  steel  and 
stone,  and  the  ambitious  of  every  city  and  country 
in  the  world  will  keep  pouring  into  it  and  crowd- 
ing its  floor  space  and  shoving  it  up  higher  and 
higher  into  towering  cubes.  New  York  dominates 
the  whole  of  the  Western  Hemisphere  and  weights 
securely  the  Eastern  coast  of  the  map,  and  because 
of  all  this  weight  and  importance,  New  Yorkers 
fancy  they  are  the  Americans  of  America,  but  New 
York  is  not  half  as  typically  American  as  Chicago ; 
and  that  is  where  you  come  to  your  first  real  con- 
trast. 

Omnipotent  New  York,  in  contrast  to  ambitious 
Chicago.  Chicago  is  American  to  her  backbone — 
238 


"UNENDING  SAMENESS" 

active,  alive  and  inordinately  desiring,  ceaselessly 
aspiring.  Between  New  York  and  Chicago  is 
strung  a  chain  of  cities  that  have  many  qualities, 
like  mixed  samples  of  these  two  terminal  points. 
But  beyond  Chicago,  no  trace  of  New  York  re- 
mains. Every  city  is  spunky  and  busy,  ambitious 
and  sometimes  a  little  self -laudatory.  (New  York 
is  not  self -laudatory ;  she  is  too  supremely  self- 
eatisfied  to  think  any  remarks  on  the  subject  nec- 
essary.) Leaving  the  country  of  fields  and  woods 
and  streams,  you  traverse  that  great  prairie  land 
of  vast  spaces,  and  finally  ascend  the  heights  of 
the  mighty  Rocky  Mountains. 

The  next  contrast  is  in  Colorado  Springs,  which 
is  as  unlike  the  rest  of  America  as  though  St. 
Moritz  itself  had  been  grafted  in  the  midst  of  our 
continent.  All  through  New  Mexico  and  Arizona 
you  are  in  a  strange  land,  far  more  like  Asia  than 
anything  in  the  United  States  or  Europe.  A  baked 
land  of  blazing  sun,  dynamic  geological  miracles, 
a  land  of  terrible  beauty  and  awful  desolation,  and 
then  the  sudden  sharp  ascent  to  the  height  of 
steep  snow  and  conifer-covered  mountains,  look- 
ing even  higher  than  the  Eockies  because  of  their 
abrupt  needle-pointed  heights.  And  finally,  the 
greatest  contrast  climax  of  all,  the  sudden  drop- 
ping down  into  the  tropically  blooming  seacoast 
gardens  of  the  California  shore. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  only  those  who  love 
motoring  should  ever  undertake  such  a  journey, 
nor  is  the  crossing  of  our  continent  as  smoothly 
239 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

easy  as  crossing  Europe.  But  given  good  weather, 
and  the  right  kind  of  a  machine,  there  are  no  diffi- 
culties, in  any  sense,  anywhere. 

There  couldn't  be  a  worse  tenderfoot  than  I  am, 
there  really  couldn't.  I'm  very  dependent  upon 
comfort,  have  little  strength,  less  endurance,  and 
hate  ''roughing  it"  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 
Yet  not  for  a  moment  was  I  exhausted  or  in  any 
way  distressed,  except  about  the  unfitness  of  our 
car  and  its  consequent  injuries,  a  situation  which 
others,  differently  equipped,  would  not  experience. 

I  suppose  the  metamorphosis  has  come  little 
by  little  all  across  our  wide  spirit-awakening  coun- 
try, but  I  feel  as  though  I  had  acquired  from  the 
great  open  West  a  more  direct  outlook,  a  simpler, 
less  encumbered  view  of  life.  You  can't  come  in 
contact  with  people  anywhere,  without  uncon- 
sciously absorbing  a  few  of  their  habits,  a  tinge 
of  their  point  of  view,  and  in  even  a  short  while 
you  find  you  have  sloughed  off  the  skin  of  Eastern 
hidebound  dependence  upon  ease  and  luxury,  and 
that  hitherto  indispensable  details  dwindle — at 
least  temporarily — to  unimportance. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

TO  THOSE  WHO  THINK  OF  FOLLOWING  IN   OUR 
TIEE  TRACKS 

FOR  the  benefit  of  those  who  are  planning 
such  a  trip  and  in  answer  to  the  many 
questions  that  have  been  asked  us  since 
our  return,  we  have  compiled  the  following  pages : 

The  subject  of  car  equipment,  driving  sugges- 
tions, garage  and  road  notes,  I  have  left  to  E.  M., 
who  has  written  a  part  of  this  chapter. 

At  the  end  of  the  book  is  a  small  outline  map  of 
the  United  States  and  the  route  we  took  marked 
on  it  with  divisions,  each  indicating  a  day's  run. 
On  separate  pages  are  enlarged,  detailed  diagrams 
of  these  divisions,  drawn  to  uniform  scale,  giving 
general  road  surfaces,  points  of  historical  or  topo- 
graphical interest  along  the  road,  and  thumbnail 
outlines  that  suggest  the  types  and  relative  sizes 
of  the  hotels  they  represent.  Each  little  symbol 
means  a  modernly,  even  a  luxuriously  equipped 
house ;  good  food,  good  rooms  and  private  baths. 
The  mileage  between  all  these  best  hotels  is  clearly 
indicated,  so  that  a  tourist  can  plan  the  distance 
he  likes  to  run  at  a  glance. 

East  of  the  Mississippi  there  are  plenty  of  high- 
class  hotels,  and  although  fine  ones  are  building  in 
241 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

every  state  of  our  country,  in  many  sections  of 
the  West  those  dependent  upon  luxuries  will  still 
have  to  go  occasionally  long  distances  a  day  to 
get  them. 

From  New  York  to  San  Francisco,  by  way  of 
the  Eocky  Mountains  and  Los  Angeles,  is  about 
4,250  miles;  which  divides  itself  into  about  four 
weeks'  straight  running,  including  the  side  trips 
to  the  Grand  Canyon,  to  San  Diego  and  Monterey, 
but  not  including  extra  days  to  stop  over.  To 
make  it  in  less  would  be  pretty  strenuous,  but 
perfectly  feasible.  Allowing  no  time  out  for  sight- 
seeing, accidents  or  weather  delays,  we  arrived  in 
San  Francisco  in  four  weeks'  running  time,  in- 
cluding the  run  to  San  Diego  (two  days),  but 
we  skipped  a  stretch  of  Arizona  and  Southeastern 
California,  a  distance  that  would  have  taken  about 
three  days,  which  would  have  made  our  own  en- 
tire distance  time  twenty-nine  days. 

Some  days  we  drove  thirteen  or  fourteen  hours, 
others  we  drove  only  three  or  four.  We  never 
ran  on  schedule,  but  went  on  further  or  stayed 
where  we  were  as  we  happened  to  feel  like  it,  ex- 
cepting, of  course,  our  one  breakdown  and  the  two 
times  we  were  held  over  by  rain.  When  roads 
were  good  and  the  country  deserted,  we  went  fast, 
but  the  highest  the  speedometer  ever  went  for  any 
length  of  time  in  the  most  uninhabited  stretches 
was  fifty  miles  an  hour.  At  others  it  fell  to  six! 
For  long,  long  distances,  on  account  of  the  speed 
laws  or  road  surfaces,  we  traveled  at  eighteen  to 
242 


TO  THOSE  WHO  FOLLOW  US 

twenty.  Between  thirty-five  and  forty  is  the  car's 
easiest  pace  where  surface  and  traffic  conditions 
allow.  East  of  Omaha  we  were  never  many  hours 
a  day  on  the  road.  Between  Omaha  and  Cheyenne, 
and  again  between  Albuquerque  and  Winslow, 
finding  no  stopping  places  that  tempted,  we  drove 
on  very  long  and  far. 

TO   THE  MAN  WHO   DRIVES 
BY  E.  M.  POST,  JR. 

If  I  were  starting  again  for  the  West,  I  should 
want  an  American  car.  A.  new  car  of  almost  any 
standard  American  make  would  be  better  for  such 
a  trip  than  the  best  foreign  one. 

In  the  first  place,  our  own  cars  have  sufficient 
clearance — ten  inches.  In  the  second  place,  spare 
parts  are  easy  to  get.  Especially  is  this  true  of 
the  moderate  priced  cars,  which  are  sold  in  such 
large  numbers  that  even  the  small  country  garages 
must  carry  supplies  for  them.  But  the  important 
advantage  is  sufficient  height.  There  are  many 
places,  particularly  in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona, 
where  with  a  low  car  you  will  have  to  fill  in  ruts 
so  that  your  center  can  clear  the  middle  of  the 
road ;  and  you  will  have  to  pile  earth  and  stones 
on  the  slopes  of  some  of  the  railroad  crossings, 
so  as  not  to  "hang  up"  on  the  tracks. 

Beyond  the  state  of  Colorado,  which  has  mag- 
nificent mountain  roads,  if  your  car  is  a  foreign 
243 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

one,  you  should  have  extra-sized  wheels  put  on  it 
to  lift  the  frame  high  enough.  Of  course,  you  can 
get  through,  by  destroying  your  comfort  and  tem- 
per, in  road  building,  and  jacking  the  machine 
over  places  impossible  to  pass  otherwise,  and  ar- 
riving in  a  very  battered  condition  in  the  end.  An- 
other qualification  besides  height  in  favor  of  an 
American  car,  is  endurance.  American  manufac- 
turers have  solved  the  problem  of  building  ma- 
chinery that  needs  little  care  and  can  be  jolted 
without  injury,  where  the  more  complicated  Euro- 
pean machinery  under  like  treatment  goes  to 
pieces'. 

With  a  foreign  car  you  are  furthermore  at  a 
disadvantage  in  using  metric  tire  sizes.  You  can 
always  get  the  standard  American  sizes,  which  in 
the  tubes  will  fit  your  metric  casings  all  right, 
and  for  that  matter  you  could  probably  at  a  pinch 
and  temporarily  use  a  standard  casing.  Metric 
size  can  be  found  in  such  places  as  New  York,  Chi- 
cago, Los  Angeles  and  San  Francisco,  but  shoes 
have  a  way  of  exhausting  themselves  without  re- 
gard to  your  position  on  the  map. 

At  Los  Angeles  or  San  Francisco  you  can  get 
your  metric  equipment  for  the  return  trip  so  that 
if  you  start  with  new  tires  all  around  and  two 
spares,  you  should  have  no  need  of  buying  tires 
on  the  road.  Mine  are,  according  to  average 
American  equipment,  way  under  size  for  the 
weight  of  my  car,  and  my  six  shoes  carried  me 
through  easily.  In  fact  there  was  New  York  air 
244 


TO  THOSE  WHO  FOLLOW  US 

in  two  of  them  when  we  arrived  in  San  Francisco. 

In  the  matter  of  what  to  carry:  New  tires,  of 
course.  For  any  but  a  very  heavy  car  two  spare 
shoes  are  plenty.  Tubes  you  can  buy  anywhere. 
I  only  had  five  punctures  all  the  way — and  no 
blow-out.  More  than  two  extra  shoes  would  be 
a  hindrance  because  of  their  weight.  A  small 
shovel  is  sometimes  convenient  but  not  necessary 
east  of  New  Mexico,  and  with  a  high  car  not  neces- 
sary at  all.  African  water  bags  are  essential  west 
of  Albuquerque,  but  not  before.  Fifty  or  a  hun- 
dred feet  of  thin  rope  may  be  very  useful  if 
you  happen  to  strike  mud  or  sand  stretches,  es- 
pecially if  two  cars  are  making  the  trip  together. 
In  the  way  of  spare  parts,  I  should  suggest  a  cou- 
ple of  spark  plugs,  extra  valve  and  valve  spring, 
fan  belt,  extra  master  links  for  a  chain-drive  car. 
Tire  chains  with  extra  heavy  cross-pieces  for  all 
wheels  are  indispensable  through  the  Middle  "West 
in  case  of  rain.  And  see  that  the  tools  that  have 
been  "borrowed"  from  your  tool  kit  have  been  re- 
placed. Repairs  on  the  road  are  aggravating 
enough,  not  to  be  made  more  so  through  lack  of 
tools.  Now  that  people  carry  spare  rims  and 
almost  never  seem  to  put  in  a  new  tube  and 
pump  it  up  on  the  road,  they  neglect  to  carry  a 
pump  and  a  spare  tube,  but  if  you  should 
have  three  flat  tires  in  one  day,  you  will  ap- 
preciate a  spare  tube  and  an  old-fashioned  tire 
pump  that  works ! 

I  carried  thirty-five  gallons  of  gasoline  in  my 
245 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

tank,  which  gave  me  a  radius  of  three  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  on  a  tank  full,  with  which  I  was 
never  in  any  danger  of  running  short.  I  should 
say  that  a  two  hundred-mile  radius  would  be  plen- 
ty, except  across  the  desert.  You  can  buy  it  even 
there,  but  at  about  three  or  four  times  the  regular 
rate.  You  may  go  many  miles  before  you  come  to 
a  hotel,  but  gasoline  you  can  buy  anywhere.  Good 
shock  absorbers  all  around  will  probably  save  you 
a  broken  spring  or  two.  It  will  pay  to  look  over 
your  springs  after  each  day's  run  and  if  a  leaf  is 
broken,  have  a  new  one  put  in  before  attempting 
to  go  on. 

In  the  Middle  West,  automobile  associations  or 
highway  commissioners  do  magnificent  work. 
Koads  are  splendidly  sign  posted,  and  in  the 
dragged  roads  districts,  the  rain  no  sooner  stops 
than  the  big  four-  and  six-horse  drags  are  out. 
Follow  a  rainstorm  in  a  few  hours,  and  you  will 
find  every  road  ahead  of  you  as  smooth  as  a  new- 
swept  floor.  Hence  for  the  patient  motorist,  who 
can  spare  the  time,  there  is  always  an  eventual 
moment  when  there  are  good  roads. 

A  few  of  the  bad  roads  of  the  Southwest  are  so 
rocky  that  you  have  literally  to  clamber  over 
them,  but  about  seventy  per  cent  of  the  road 
across  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  in  which  I  in- 
clude the  road  across  the  Mohave  Desert  that  I 
covered  later,  is  a  fair,  and  occasionally  fast,  nat- 
ural road.  The  streams  are  generally  easy  to  get 
through,  and  at  those  that  are  sandy  or  too  deep, 
246 


TO  THOSE  WHO  FOLLOW  US 

the  automobile  association  keeps  teams  standing 
on  purpose  to  see  you  through. 

A   FEW   SUGGESTIONS   ON   DRIVING 

Don't  try  to  drive  from  New  York  to  San  Fran- 
cisco on  high  gear.  You  will  often  have  used 
"first"  by  the  time  you  strike  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. Don't,  then,  subject  your  bearings  to  an 
unnecessary  strain  by  forcing  your  motor  to  labor 
as  it  must,  if  too  steep  a  hill  is  taken  on  too  high 
a  gear.  See  that  your  hand  brake  can  lock  your 
wheels.  On  a  five-mile  grade  one  brake  may  burn 
out,  and  on  most  cars  in  this  country  the  hand 
brake  is  next  to  worthless  from  lack  of  use  and 
care.  Letting  the  engine  act  as  a  brake  is  a  good 
practice  on  long  descents. 

On  going  through  sand  or  mud  that  looks  as  if 
it  might  stop  you,  change  into  a  lower  gear  and 
don't  lose  your  forward  momentum.  It  is  easier 
to  keep  a  car  going  than  to  start  it  again.  Ford- 
ing through  streams  instead  of  crossing  on  bridges 
is  common  in  the  Southwest  and  many  of  the 
streams  have  bottoms  of  quicksand  character.  Be- 
fore fording  a  stream  make  sure  that  the  water  is 
not  going  to  come  above  the  height  of  your  carbu- 
retor. Then  start  and  stay  in  first  until  you  are 
out  on  the  other  side.  The  idea  is  to  go  through 
at  a  constant  speed  with  no  jerk  on  the  wheels. 

In  high  altitude  your  carburetor  will  need  more 
air,  as  there  is  less  oxygen  in  a  given  volume  of  at- 
247 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

mosphere  than  at  sea-level.  This  means  also  that 
a  gasoline  motor  has  considerably  less  power  in 
Colorado  than  at  sea-level.  Don't  be  discouraged 
and  think  your  car  is  failing  you  when  you  find 
that  you  have  to  crawl  up  a  long  hill  in  "second,'* 
upon  which  you  think  you  ought  to  "pick  up"  on 
"high."  Not  only  is  your  motor  less  powerful 
than  at  home,  but  the  hill  is  steeper  than  it  looks. 
When  you  get  back  to  sea-level  it  will  run  as  well 
as  ever. 

The  hardest  thing  for  a  stranger  to  guess  seven 
or  eight  thousand  feet  up  in  the  air,  is  height, 
grade  or  distance.  You  'see  a  little  hill,  a  nice 
little  gentle  incline  about  half  a  mile  long  at  most ; 
then  gradually  from  the  elevation  of  your  own 
radiator  out  in  front  of  you.  you  get  some  idea 
of  the  steepness  of  grade  and  you  find  from  your 
speedometer  when  you  get  to  the  top,  that  it  was 
a  short-  little  stretch  of  three  miles. 

One  other  point  •  on  high  altitudes  you  will  have 
to  fill  your  radiator  often.  Water  boils  more 
quickly,  and  this  added  to  the  long  stiff  grades, 
will  cause  a  lot  of  your  cooling  water  to  waste  in 
steam — even  in  a  car  that  at  normal  altitude  never 
overheats. 

KEPAIE   WOEK   ON    THE   KOAD 

You  will  find  a  few  garages  anxious  to  please, 
beautifully  equipped  and  capable  of  the  finest 
work.  The  garages  of  Europe  are  not  to  be  com- 

248 


TO  THOSE  WHO  FOLLOW  US 

pared  with  our  best  ones.  Garage  equipment  of 
the  newest  is  to  be  found  frequently,  and  all  the 
way  across  the  continent.  The  greater  majority 
of  garages  are  neither  good  nor  bad;  and  again 
a  few — a  very  few  only — are  incompetent,  careless 
and  lazy,  the  men  having  the  attitude  that  they  are 
doing  you  a  favor  in  robbing  you. 

If  you  know  enough  about  your  car  to  do  your 
own  repairing,  or  know  what  should  be  done  well 
enough  to  superintend  others,  you  will  have  no 
trouble.  Furthermore,  if  you  actually  oversee 
everything  that  is  done — you  know  that  your  car 
is  all  right  and  you  don't  have  to  hope  that  noth- 
ing has  been  forgotten  by  a  man  who  knows  that 
he  is  not  going  to  be  the  one  to  suffer  if  his  work 
is  not  what  it  should  be.  Also  you  know  your 
car's  weaknesses  and  in  driving  can  save  them. 
I  find  garage  men  who  take  pride  in  their  garages, 
glad  and  willing  to  serve  an  owner  who  takes  that 
much  interest  in  his  machine. 

On  rare  occasions,  a  first-class  man  resents  your 
persistent  superintendence,  as  though  it  were  a 
slur  on  his  ability  or  good  intentions.  There  was 
a  case  in  the  Marksheffel  garage  in  Colorado 
Springs — it  was  one  of  the  best,  by  the  way,  that 
I  have  ever  encountered.  The  car  had  been  driven 
over  30,000  miles  without  ever  being  taken  down, 
and  without  other  care  than  my  own.  And  before 
going  into  such  an  uninhabited  country  as  the 
desert,  there  were  several  parts  that  I  thought 
it  safer  to  put  in  new. 

249 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

Taking  the  crank  case  off  and  fitting  new  gas- 
kets, two  men  worked  on  it  until  late  into  the  night. 
I  did  not  do  any  work  myself  this  time,  but  stood 
watching  the  men,  so  interested  in  the  efficient 
way  they  were  doing  the  job,  that  I  was  uncon- 
sciously silent.  At  the  end  of  about  two  hours, 
one  of  them  burst  out  with: 

"I  guess  you've  had  some  pretty  tough  expe- 
rience with  dishonest  garages — is  that  it?" 

"No,"  I  told  him,  "that  was  not  it,  but  that  I 
always  wanted  to  know  the  exact  condition  of  my 
engine.  Otherwise  I  might  get  into  serious  trou- 
ble on  the  road  somewhere. ' '  The  situation  being 
thus  explained,  his  former  resentment  melted  en- 
tirely, and  a  few  hours  later  we  parted  warm 
friends. 

In  the  case  of  this  particular  garage,  as  well  as 
those  whose  names  are  listed  in  the  garage  ex- 
pense accounts  (pages  260-277),  you  can  certainly 
leave  the  repairs  to  them,  unless  your  engine  is  to 
you  what  a  favorite  horse  is  to  a  lover  of  animals 
— something  whose  welfare  you  do  not  want  for  a 
moment  to  be  in  doubt  about. 

On  the  whole,  to  a  man  who  has  had  any  driv- 
ing experience  at  all,  and  who  chooses  a  proper 
car,  most  particularly  if  it  is  a  new  one,  the  trip 
will  not  present  any  difficulties.  And  the  experi- 
ences he  may  have  will  prove  an  incomparable 
school  for  his  driving  and  for  his  ability  to  tackle 
new  problems  with  the  means  at  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXXH 
ON  THE  SUBJECT  OF  CLOTHES 

WE  had  far  too  many !  They  were  a  perfect 
nuisance!  Yet  each  traveler  needs  a 
heavy  coat,  a  thin  coat  or  sweater,  a 
duster  and  a  rug  or  two,  and  there  is  a  huge  bun- 
dle already.  Then  possibly  a  dressing-case  for 
each,  and  surely  a  big  valise  of  some  sort,  either 
suit-case  or  motor  trunk.  Added  to  this  are  in- 
numerable necessities — Blue  Books,  a  camera, 
food  paraphernalia,  an  extra  hat — most  women 
want  an  extra  hat,  and  men,  too,  for  that  matter — 
and  though  goggles  and  veils  are  worn  most  of  the 
time,  they  have  to  be  put  somewhere.  All  of  these 
last  items  go  too  wonderfully  in  a  silk  bag  such  as 
I  described  as  having  been  given  us.  It  was  of 
taffeta,  made  exactly  like  an  ordinary  pillow-case 
with  a  running  string  at  one  end;  it  was  about 
twenty  inches  wide  and  thirty  inches  long.  E. 
M.'s  straw  hat,  Celia's  extra  hat,  and  mine  all 
went  in  it,  beside  veils  and  gloves  and  other  odds 
and  ends.  It  weighed  nothing;  it  went  on  top  of 
everything  else  and,  tied  through  the  handle  of  a 
dressing-case  by  its  own  strings,  was  in  no  danger 
of  blowing  out.  Why  hats  traveled  in  it  without 
251 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

crushing  like  broken  eggshells,  I  don't  know,  but 
they  did. 

Offering  advice  on  clothes  for  a  motor  trip  is 
much  like  offering  advice  on  what  to  wear  walk- 
ing up  the  street.  But  on  the  chance  that  in  a  per- 
fectly commonplace  list  there  may  be  an  item  of 
use  to  someone,  I  have  inventoried  below  a  list  of 
things  that  I  personally  should  duplicate,  if  I 
were  taking  the  trip  over  again : 

First:  A  coat  and  pleated  skirt  of  a  material 
that  does  not  show  creases.  Maltreat  a  piece  first, 
to  see.  With  this  one  suit,  half  a  dozen  easily 
washed  blouses  and  a  sleeveless  overwaist  of  the 
material  of  the  skirt,  which,  worn  over  a  chiffon 
underblouse,  makes  a  whole  dress,  instead  of  an 
odd  shirtwaist  and  skirt.  These  underblouses  are 
merely  separate  chiffon  linings  with  sleeves  and 
collars,  and  half  a  dozen  can  be  put  in  the  space 
of  a  pound  candy-box — yet  give  the  same  service 
as  six  waists  to  your  dress. 

On  an  ordinary  motoring  trip  such  as  over  the 
various  well-worn  tours  of  Northeastern  States  or 
of  the  Pacific  Coast  or  Europe,  where  you  arrive 
in  the  early  afternoon  with  plenty  of  time  to  rest 
for  a  while  and  dress  for  dinner,  several  restau- 
rant or  informal  evening-dresses  may  be  useful, 
but  crossing  the  continent,  unless  you  stop  over 
several  days  in  cities  where  you  have  friends,  in 
which  case  you  can  send  a  trunk  ahead,  it  is  often 
late  when  you  arrive,  and  any  dressing  further 
than  getting  clean  and  tidy  does  not  strongly  ap- 
252 


ON;  THE  SUBJECT  OF  CLOTHES 

peal  to  you.  Besides  one  suit  and  blouses,  a  very 
serviceable  dress  to  take  would  be  a  simple  house 
dress  of  some  sort  of  uncreasable  silk.  There  is 
a  Chinese  crepe  that  nothing  wrinkles — not  to  be 
confused  with  many  varieties  of  crepes  de  chine 
that  crease  like  sensitive  plants  at  a  mere  touch. 

If  I  expected  to  go  through  towns  where  I  might 
be  dining  out,  I  would  add  an  evening  dress  of 
black  jet  or  cream  lace — two  materials  that  stand 
uncreasingly  any  amount  of  packing.  Otherwise 
my  third  and  last  would  be  a  silk  skirt  and  jacket 
— the  skirt  of  black  and  white  up  and  down  stripes 
with  white  chiffon  blouses,  and  the  jacket  black. 
The  taffeta  should  be  of  the  heavy  soft  variety 
that  does  not  crack  and  muss.  The  skirt  should 
be  unlined  and  cut  with  straight  seams  gathered 
on  a  belt;  a  dress  that  folds  in  a  second  of  time 
and  in  a  few  inches  of  space.  With  the  coat  on,  it 
is  a  street  dress;  coat  off  (with  a  high  girdle  to 
match  the  skirt),  it  is  whatever  the  top  of  the 
blouse  you  wear  makes  it. 

A  duster  is,  of  course,  indispensable.  A  taffeta 
one  is  very  nice,  especially  when  you  want  some- 
thing better-looking,  but  on  a  long  journey  taffeta 
cracks,  dirt  constantly  sifts  through  it  and  it  can't 
be  washed  as  linen  can.  In  the  high  altitudes  of 
the  Southwest,  a  day  of  tropical  heat  is  followed 
by  a  penetratingly  cold  night.  The  thermometer 
may  not  be  actually  low  and  the  air  seem  soft  and 
delicious,  but  it  sifts  through  fabrics  in  the  way 
a  biting  wind  can,  and  you  are  soon  thankful  if 
253 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

you  have  brought  a  heavy  wrap.  When  you  need 
it,  nothing  is  as  comfortable  as  fur.  I  took  an  old 
sealskin  coat  and  I  don 't  know  what  I  should  have 
done  without  it.  On  my  personal  list,  a  mackin- 
tosh has  no  place.  If  it  rains,  the  top  is  up,  and 
to  keep  wind  out,  I'd  rather  have  fur. 

Nor  are  shoes  under  ordinary  fortunate  cir- 
cumstances important.  But  on  my  list  are  "vel- 
vet slippers. "  Scarcely  your  idea  of  appropriate 
motoring  footwear,  but  if  your  seat  is  the  front 
one  over  the  engine,  you  will  find  velvet  the  cool- 
est material  there  is — cooler  than  buckskin,  or 
suede,  or  kid  or  canvas — much !  And  if  you  want 
to  walk,  your  luggage,  after  all,  is  with  you. 

Every  woman  knows  the  kind  of  hat  she  likes 
to  wear.  But  does  every  woman  realize,  which 
Celia  and  I  did  not,  that  a  hat  to  be  worn  nine 
or  eleven  hours  across  a  wind-swept  prairie  must 
offer  no  more  resistance  than  the  helmet  of  a  race 
driver?  A  helmet,  by  the  way,  made  to  fit  your 
head  and  face  is  ideally  comfortable.  A  hat  that 
the  wind  catches  very  little  won't  bother  you  in 
a  few  hours,  but  at  the  end  of  ten,  your  head  will 
feel  stone-bruised.  An  untrimmed  toque,  very 
small  and  close,  and  tied  on  with  a  veil  is  just 
about  as  comfortable  as  a  helmet.  It  has  the  dis- 
advantage of  having  no  brim,  but  yellow  goggles 
mitigate  the  glare,  and  it  is  the  brim,  even  though 
it  be  of  the  inverted  flower-pot  turn-down,  that 
is  a  pocket  for  wind  that  at  the  end  of  a  few  hours 
pulls  uncomfortably. 

254 


ON  THE  SUBJECT  OF  CLOTHES 

A  real  suggestion  to  the  woman  who  minds  get- 
ting sunburnt,  is  an  orange-colored  chiffon  veil. 
It  must  be  a  vivid  orange  that  has  a  good  deal  of 
red  in  it.  Even  with  the  blazing  sun  of  New 
Mexico  and  California  shining  straight  in  your 
face,  a  single  thickness  of  orange-colored  chiffon 
will  keep  you  from  burning  at  all.  If  you  can 't  see 
through  chiffon,  but  mind  freckling  or  burning,  to 
say  nothing  of  blistering,  sew  an  orange-colored 
veil  across  the  lower  rims  of  your  goggles  and 
wear  orange-colored  glasses.  Cut  a  square  out  of 
the  top  so  as  to  leave  no  sun  space  on  your  tem- 


ples, and  put  a  few  gathers  over  the  nose  to  allow 
it  to  fit  your  face.  Fasten  sides  over  hat  like 
any  veil.  The  Southwestern  sun  will  burn  your 
arms  through  sleeves  of  heavy  crepe  de  chine, 
but  the  thinnest  material  of  orange — red  is  next 
best — protects  your  skin  in  the  same  way  that  the 
ruby  glass  of  a  lantern  in  a  photographer's  de- 
veloping room  protects  a  sensitive  plate. 

Wear  the  thinnest  and  least  amount  of  under- 
wear that  you  can  feel  decently  clad  in,  so  as  to 
get  as  many  fresh  changes  as  possible  in  the  least 
space,  because  of  the  difficulty  in  stopping  often 
to  have  things  laundered.  What  they  put  in  the 
clothes  in  Southern  California  I  don't  know,  but 
255 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

in  any  mixture  of  linen  and  silk,  the  silk  has  been 
apparently  dipped  in  blue  dye.  A  cream-colored 
silk-and-linen  shirt  of  E.  M.'s  that  happened  to 
have  the  buttonholes  worked  in  silk,  is  now  a  stip- 
pled green  with  buttonholes  of  navy  blue.  It  is 
rather  putting  your  belongings  to  the  test  of  virtue 
— as  those  which  are  pure  silk  wash  perfectly  well. 
If  I  were  going  again  I  should  take  everything  I 
could  of  thin  crepe  de  chine.  It  seems  to  be  very 
easy  to  launder,  and  is  everywhere  returned  in  a 
clean  and  comfortably  soft  condition,  whereas 
linen  often  comes  back  uncertain  as  to  color  and 
feeling  like  paper. 

Although  of  more  service  on  boats  or  trains, 
or  in  Europe  where  private  baths  are  not  often  to 
be  had,  a  black  or  dark  silk  kimono  and  a  black 
lace  bed-cap,  if  you  ever  wear  bed-caps,  are  in- 
valuable assets  to  anyone  who  dislikes  walking 
through  public  corridors  in  obvious  undress.  My 
own  especial  treasures,  acquired  after  many  un- 
successful attempts,  are  a  wrapper  cut  the  pattern 
of  an  evening  wrap,  of  very  soft,  black  silk  bro- 
cade. It  rolls  up  as  easily  as  any  kimono,  and 
takes  scarcely  any  space.  The  cap  is  a  very  plain 
"Dutch"  one,  of  thread  lace  with  a  velvet  rib- 
bon around  it.  A  wrapper  that  isn't  obviously  a 
wrapper,  is  sometimes  very  convenient.  You 
could  make  believe  it  was  an  evening  wrap,  if 
you  were  very  hard  pressed. 

And  above  everything,  in  traveling  you  want 
clothes  that  are  uncomplicated.  The  ones  that 
256 


ON  THE  SUBJECT  OF  CLOTHES 

you  get  into  most  easily  are  the  ones  you  put  on 
most  often.  Underblouses,  such  as  I  have  de- 
scribed above,  are  a  perfect  traveler's  delight,  be- 
cause there  is  no  basting  in,  or  trying  to  clean 
collars,  cuffs,  etc.  A  fresh  underblouse  with  lace 
trimming,  rolled  like  a  little  bolster,  measures 
one  and  a  half  inches  by  seven. 

And  remember:  Plain  skirts  crease  in  half- 
moons  across  the  back,  pleated  or  very  full  ones 
don't.  An  orange  veil  prevents  sunburn.  West- 
ern climate  is  very  trying  to  the  skin,  so  that  you 
need  cold  cream  even  if  you  don't  use  it  at  home. 
A  lace  veil  of  a  rather  striking  pattern  is  at  times 
of  ugliness  a  great  beautifier. 

Clothes  for  men  are  a  little  out  of  my  province. 
E.  M.  had  some  khaki  flannel  shirts,  breeches  and 
puttees  that  seemed  to  be  very  serviceable.  At 
least  he  was  able  to  spend  any  amount  of  time  roll- 
ing on  the  road  under  the  machine,  and  still  brush 
off  fairly  well.  He  had  a  sweater  and  an  ulster 
and  two  regular  suits  of  clothes  to  change  alter- 
nately at  the  end  of  the  day.  His  evening  clothes, 
tennis  flannels,  etc.,  were  sent  through  by  express. 

To  send  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  from  New 
York  to  San  Francisco  costs  fifteen  dollars. 

FOOD   EQUIPMENT 

Don 't  take  a  big,  heavy,  elaborate  lunch  basket. 

If  you  want  to  know  what  perfect  comfort  is,  get 

a  tin  breadbox  with  a  padlock,  and  let  it  stay  on 

the  floor  of  the  tonneau.    In  the  bottom  of  it  you 

257 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

can  keep  tins  of  potted  meats,  jars  of  jam,  and  a 
box  of  crackers,  some  milk  chocolate,  or  if  you  like 
better,  nuts  and  raisins.  And  on  top  you  can 
put  everything  you  lay  your  hands  on!  Books, 
sweaters,  medicine  case,  and  a  pack  of  oiled  paper 
to  wrap  luncheons  in.  We  had  a  solidified  alcohol 
lamp,  a  ten-cent  kettle,  and  thermos  bottles,  a 
big  thermos  food  jar,  which  we  filled  with  ice 
cream  if  the  day  was  hot,  and  one  of  the  bottles 
with  cocoa  if  it  was  cool.  Coffee  (if  you  put  cream 
in  it)  has  always  a  corked,  musty  taste,  but  cocoa 
is  not  affected,  neither  is  soup.  Food  tastes  better 
if  you  don't  mix  your  bottles.  Keep  the  jar  for 
ice  cream,  if  you  like  ice  cream,  a  bottle  for  cocoa 
or  soup,  and  two  for  ice  or  hot  water.  On  long 
runs  in  the  Far  West,  a  canvas  water  bag  is  con- 
venient. You  can  buy  one  at  almost  any  garage, 
and  it  keeps  water  quite  wonderfully  fresh  and 
cool. 

On  top  of  our  permanent  supplies  we  put  the 
daily  luncheons  we  took  from  the  hotels:  sand- 
wiches, boiled  eggs  and  fruit  and  the  above-men- 
tioned cocoa  or  ice  cream.  Cocoa  we  bought  at  the 
hotels,  but  our  favorite  place  to  buy  ice  cream  was 
at  a  soda-water  fountain. 

The  tins  in  our  bread  box  we  hoarded  as  a  miser 
hoards  gold — as  a  surplus  that  we  might  need  to 
keep  us  alive ;  and,  as  is  the  common  end  of  most 
misers,  when  we  got  to  San  Francisco  and  our 
journey  was  over,  the  greater  part  was  still  left — 
to  give  away. 


ON;  THE  SUBJECT  OF  CLOTHES 


EXPENSES 

The  following  pages  of  actual  expenses  copied 
out  of  our  diaries  may  be  useful  as  a  table  of  com- 
parison by  which  other  travelers  can  form  an  idea 
of  what  their  own  are  likely  to  be. 

For  some  the  trip  will  cost  more,  but  on  the 
other  hand,  it  can  be  done  for  very  much  less.  In 
every  case  we  had  the  kind  of  rooms  that 
are  assigned  to  those  who,  without  questioning  the 
price,  asks  for  ''good  outside  rooms  with  baths." 
Undoubtedly,  there  were  in  many  cases  more  ex- 
pensive ones  to  be  had,  but  in  all  cases  there  were 
cheaper  ones. 

Our  restaurant  bills,  however,  were  compara- 
tively light.  We  seldom  ordered  more  than  three 
dishes  each,  and  the  restaurant  charges  to  people 
of  very  substantial  appetite,  will  run  more  rather 
than  less.  On  extras,  of  course,  anyone  could  add 
or  subtract  indefinitely,  but  the  details  noted  may 
serve  as  a  scale  of  current  charges. 

The  garage  bills  speak  for  themselves.  Each 
man  knows  how  far  his  own  car  can  go  on  a  gal- 
lon, and  how  often  he  wants  it  washed.  No  one 
can  count  his  repairs  in  advance,  but  our  garage 
bills,  however,  were  certainly  very  much  heavier 
than  average.  E.  M.  's  car  is  at  best  an  expensive 
one  to  run,  and  on  this  trip  it  was  at  its  worst, 
having  been  driven  without  overhauling  for  two 
years. 

259 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 


DAILY  EXPENSE  ACCOUNT 


PREPARATORY  EXPENSES 

6  Repub.  staggered  tires,  6  tubes,  and  put  on $347.04 

Warner  speedometer 51.00 

FIRST  DAY'S  RUN,  NEW  YORK  TO  ALBANY 
(MAP  No.  1) 

PERSONAL  MOTOR 


New  York. 
Lunched  at  home. 


Albany.    Ten  Eyck  Hotel. 
2  hallboys  carrying 

up  luggage $  .50 

Dinner,  for  three..  4.60 

Tip   50 

"Movies" 30 

Postcards 10 

Stamps    10 

Soda  water 30 

Telephone  home....     .90 
Double    room     and 
bath    (hotel   full, 
couldn't  get  three 

singles)    5.00 

Single     room      (no 

bath)    ... 2.00 

Coffee  and  toast  for 
two   (in  room) . . 

Tip  

Breakfast  (E.  M.). 


New    York.      49th    Street 

Garage. 
15  gals,  gas $2.70 

160  miles  (should  have  been 
150). 

Albany.  Albany  Garage  Co. 

18  gals,  gas $2.70 

Storage   1.00 

Washing   1.50 

1  gal.  oil 80 


.80 
.20 
.70 

260 


DAILY  EXPENSE  ACCOUNT 

PERSONAL  MOTOR 

Tip  $.25 

Luggage   carried 

down    50 

Tip,   chambermaid..     .75 


SECOND  DAY'S  RUN,  ALBANY  TO  FORT  PLAIN 
(MAP  No.  2) 


Fort  Plain,  N.  Y. 

Lunch,  for  three. .  $1.50 

Tip 30 

Chocolate,      post- 

cards,  etc 40 

3  B.  E.  tickets  to 

Utica   .  ..  2.22 


Utica.    Hotel  Utica. 
3  fares  Utica  Hotel 

omnibus  $.45 

Telephone  home    . .  1.20 
Dinner      (delicious) 

for  three 3.50 

Tip   40 

Tip,  1  hallboy  (most 

of  luggage  left  in 

the  car)    25 

"Movies" o30 

Soda  water 30 

261 


Fort  Plain. 
Broke     bearing; 
towed  to  Hoffman 
&  Adams'  garage  $3.00 
Hoffman  &  Adams'  garage 

at  Fort  Plain. 
New  bearing  valves.$9.09 
Time  labor  12.30 

9  gals,  oil 1.15 

Gaskets,    telephone, 

etc 3.00 

(A  remarkably  good  gar- 
age;   intelligent,     effi- 
cient and  good-natured 
men.) 
Utica.    Hotel  Utica  garage. 

10  gals,  gas $1.20 

2  qts.  oil 40 

Washing   1.50 

Storage   1.00 

(Wind  shield  broken 

in  garage.) 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

PERSONAL,  MOTOR 

Double  room  (very 
big,  and  lovely; 
did  not  wire  ahead 
and  could  not  get 
three  singles  and 
baths)  $6.00 

Single  and  bath 
(small  but  attrac- 
tive)    2.50 

Coffee  for  two  (in 
room)  90 

Tip 20 

Breakfast    (E.   M.)     .90 

Tip  ...     .25 

Telephone  home   ..  1.20 

Lunch  (for  two) . . .  1.60 

Tip 30 

Valet,  pressing  one 
suit,  KM 1.00 

Hired  motor 3.00 

Tip 50 

Second  night  and  morn- 
ing Utica  about  same 
as  above. 

THIRD  DAY'S  RUN,  UTICA  TO  BUFFALO 
(MAPS  Nos.  2  AND  3) 

Lunched     Geneva.       Hotel          Geneva. 

Seneca.  2  gals,  oil $1.20 

Lunch  for  3    (very  (218  miles.) 

good   and  beauti- 
fully served)    ...$3.00 

Tip  ,.., 35 

Buffalo.     Hotel  Statler.  Buffalo.    Hotel  Statler  gar- 

2  hallboys  carrying  age. 

up  luggage 50  New  glass  in  wind- 

262 


DAILY  EXPENSE  ACCOUNT 


PERSONAL 

Dinner  (for  three)  .$3.95 

Tip 40 

3  single  rooms  (very 
nice  and  each  with 

bath)    7.50 

Tip,  chambermaid..  .75 
Telegram  to  Erie..  .26 
Sundries  .  .80 


MOTOR 

shield  $4.00 

Storage   1.00 

2  gals,  gas 2.60 


FOURTH  DAY. 


BUFFALO  TO  CLEVELAND. 
OVER  IN  ERIE 
(MAP  No.  4) 


BROKEN  BY  STOP- 


Lunch  at  Niagara  Falls. 

(At  R.  R.  lunch 
counter  to  save 
time) $.50 

Tip 20 

Erie,  Pa.    Hotel  Lawrence. 

Hallboys  up  and 
down  1.00 

Chambermaid 75 

Dinner 4.95 

Tip .50 

3  single  rooms  with 
baths 9.00 

Coffee  and  toast  (in 
room)  for  one...  .65 

Breakfast,  C.  and 
E.  M 1.60 

Tip 25 

Telegrams  and  sun- 
dries    1.00 

Lunch   (for  three).  3.15 

Tip 35 

Cleveland.      Hotel    Statler. 

Dinner    (three) 4.80 

263 


Drove  out  to  Niagara  Falls, 
back  after  lunch,  and  to 
Erie,  Pa.,  93  miles. 


Erie.     Star  Garage. 

Storage   $1.00 

10  gals,  gas 1.30 

2  gals,  oil 1.20 

(Very  nice  garage.) 


Cleveland,  102  miles. 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 


PERSONAL 
Tip $.50 

Theater  (three)  ...  6.00 
Ice-cream  sodas  . . .  .30 
3  rooms  with  baths 

(lovely)  13.50 

Coffee  in  room  (2)  .80 

Tip 20 

"Club"  breakfast, 

E.  M 75 

Tip 25 

Valet,  press  two 

suits  (E.  M.)...  2.00 
All  tips— 2  boys  up  .50 

Down 50 

Chambermaid  .         .75 


MOTOR 

Hotel's  Garage. 

Storage   $1.00 

10  gals,  gas 1.30 

1  qt.  oil 20 

Toledo,  120  miles. 


FIFTH  DAY'S  RUN,  CLEVELAND  TO  TOLEDO 
(MAP  No.  5) 


Cleveland 

Lunched  Statler $3.75 

Very   reasonable !     Most 

delicious  food. 
Toledo.     Hotel  Secor. 

Dinner 3.40 

Tip 40 

"Movies" 30 

Ice-cream  soda 30 

Telegrams,    news- 

papers,  etc 80 

3  rooms,  2  baths. .  .10.50 
Coffee  and  toast  (for 

two) 70 

Tip 20 

Usual  tips,  hallboys  1.00 

Chambermaid  ...     .75 

264 


Toledo.    United  Garage. 

Storage   $  .75 

12  gals.  gas.  (15c.)  1.80 
Wash  and  polish. . .  1.50 
Fill  grease  cups...  .75 
Pair  of  pliers .50 


DAILY  EXPENSE  ACCOUNT 

PERSONAL,  MOTOR 

Telegram   to   South 
Bend $.26 

SIXTH  DAY'S  RUN,  TOLEDO  TO  SOUTH  BEND 

(MAP  No.  6) 
Lunch  Bryan 
Christman  Hotel  (3)  $2.25 

Tip 25 

South  Bend.    Hotel  Oliver.          South  Bend.    Lincoln  Gar- 
Dinner  $4.10  age. 

Tip    40  Storage   $.75 

3  rooms,  3  baths. . .  9.00  1  gal.  oil 80 

Coffee  and  toast  (2),  17  gals,  gas 2.38 

breakfast  (1)   ...  1.90 

Usual  tips 1.75 

Sundries    80 

SEVENTH  DAY'S  RUN,  SOUTH  BEND  TO  CHICAGO 

(MAP  No.  7) 
Chicken  dinners  and 

tip  $1.75 

Chicago.     The  Blackstone.          Chicago.      "Down    Town" 

4  bellboys  (or  por-  Garage. 

ters)  luggage  up. $1.00  Storage,  three  days. $2.25 

1  Dinner  for  two  (E.  Ground  valves 6.75 

M.  out)  and  tip. .  4.00  2  spark  plugs 2.00 

Theater  (2) 5.00  Wash  and  polish  (3 

Telegram 52  days)    6.00 

Coffee  (2)  and  tip. .  1.10  17  gals,  gas  (13c.) .  2.21 

Breakfast,   E.  M...     .90  2  qts.  oil 40 

Tip 25  20  gals,  gas 2.60 

'Lunch  (2)  2.60  1  gal.   oil 80 

Tip   30 

Beautiful  big  double 

twin    beds    and 

dressing  room. . . .  7.00 
1Only  dinner  and  lunch  we  had  in  hotel, 

265 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

PERSONAL  MOTOR 

Lovely  small,  single 

room     and     bath 

(E.  M.)  $3.50 

Laundry    4.75 

Valet   2.00 

Tailor,  pressing  two 

dresses 2.00 

Average    one    day's    ex- 
penses, less  extras  than 

above. 
Extras  bought  in 

Chicago : 
Supply    of    potted 

meats,  etc $9.35 

At  Woolworth's: 

Kettle    10 

4  doz.  plates 20 

Oiled  paper .10 

2  doz.  spoons 10 

Solid  alcohol,  lamp, 

saucepan      (com- 
plete)    1.25 

Bread  box 3.45 

Padlock 30 

EIGHTH  DAY'S  RUN,  CHICAGO  TO  ROCHELLB 
(MAP  No.  8) 

Stopped   by   mud    at    Eo- 
•    chelle,  III.,  77  miles,  May 

6-7. 

Rochelle,  III.     Collier  Inn.         Eochelle.  Garage  next  door 
(Typical  day.)  to  Inn. 

(No  bellboys.)  Storage,  two  days.  .$1.00 

3  telegrams    $1.48  Wash  car  1.50 

266 


DAILY  EXPENSE  ACCOUNT 


PERSONAL 

3  rooms  with  bath, 
one  at  $3,  two  at 
$2.50,  including 
board  

Tips  to  waitress. . . 

Tip  to  chambermaid 

"Movies,"  etc 

Left  Rochelle,  May  8 


.75 
.50 
.80 


MOTOR 

Chains  (2)   $3.60 

8  gals,  gas..., 1.20 


EIGHTH  DAY'S  RUN,  CONTINUED.    ROCHELLE  TO  DAVENPORT 
(MAP  No.  8) 


Lunched  Rochelle. 
Davenport,    Iowa.      Black 

Hawk  Hotel. 

Dinner  (3)   $3.40 

Tip   40 

Hallboys,      luggage 

up  and  down....  1.00 
(Went    down    to    river 

bank  and  spent  noth- 
ing.) 
Enormous    twin-bed 

room     and    bath, 

very     attractive 

furnishing  $4.50 

Single     room     and 

bath   1.50 

(Best  rooms  for  least 

price  of  any  hotel 

we  encountered.) 

Breakfast 60 

Tip 25 

Coffee  and  toast  (2)     .80 

Tip 20 

267 


Davenport.      Black    Hawk 
Hotel's  garage. 

10  gals,  gas $2.20 

1  gal.  oil 75 

Storage      (night 

charge)    .50 

Wash  car  1.50 

Started  on  road  of  mud  to 
Des  Moines.  We  went  to 
Cedar  Rapids,  but  as  it  is 
out  of  the  course  between 
Davenport  and  does  not 
belong  on  this  route,  it  is 
omitted.  There  was  an 
Al  garage  there,  but  our 
experience  in  mud  cost: 
Vulcanizing  3  tires. $2.25 
Take  off  radiator,  re- 
pair gear  case. . .  5.60 
Car  in  shop  (no 
storage),  wash...  2.00 

20  gals,   gas 4.40 

1  gal.  oil 75 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

PERSONAL  MOTOR 


NINTH  DAY'S  RUN,  DAVENPORT  TO  DBS  MOINES  VIA 

RAPIDS 
(MAP  No.  9) 


Des  Moines.     Bernhard  & 

Turner  Auto  Co. 
Vulcanizing  tire    .  .$  .75 
Storage    ...........  50 

20  gals.  gas.   (22c.)  4.40 
2  qts.  oil   ........     .30 


Des  Moines.     Chamberlain 

Hotel. 
Tips,  bellboys,  etc., 

as  usual    .......  $1.75 

Drive    in    the    con- 

verted  jitney  ____  5.00 

Dinner  (3)   .......  3.75 

Tip  ...............  35 

Breakfast,  E.  M  .....  75 

Tip  ...............  25 

Sundries    ..........  80 

Coffee  and  toast  (in 

room)  (2)  ......  1.10 

2  single  rooms  (bath 

between)    .......  5.50 

1  single  room   and 

bath  ...........  2.50 

Lunch  to  take  with 

us  .............  2.25 

Ice  cream  .........  30 


TENTH  DAY'S  RUN,  DES  MOINES  TO  OMAHA 
(MAP  No.  10) 


Omaha.     Hotel  Fontanelle. 
(Typical  day.) 
Hallboys,      porters, 

chambermaid $1.75 

Dinner  (3)   3.80 

Tip 40 

3  single  rooms  and 
baths  (at  $3.50) 
(lovely)  10.50 


Omaha.       Guy    L.     Smith 

Garage. 
Storage   (2  days).. $1.50 

20  gals,   gas 4.40 

1  gal.  oil 80 


268 


DAILY  EXPENSE  ACCOUNT 

PERSONAL.  MOTOR 

Coffee  (1)  ... $.30 

Tip 15 

Breakfast  (E.  M.) .     .50 

Tip 20 

Lunch,  ladies'  din- 
ing room  (2) 2.70 

Lunch  (E.  M.),  club 
lunch,  men's  cafe  .60 

Tip 25 

"M  o  v  i  e  s,"  maga- 
zines, soda  water, 
etc 1.30 

Lunch  to  take  with 

us 1.80 

Ice  cream 40 

ELEVENTH   AND   TWELFTH   DAYS'  RUN,    OMAHA   TO   NORTH 

PLATTE 
(MAPS  Nos.  11  AND  12) 

Lunch  in  car.  Independent  Garage,  Grand 

Island. 

15  gals,  gas $3.30 

North  Platte.  Union  Pacific         North  Platte.     J.  S.  Davis 
Hotel.  Auto  Co. 

3  rooms  (no  baths),  Storage    $  .50 

supper  and  break-  17  gals.  gas.  (22c.)  3.74 

fast  for  three $7.50  1  gal.  oil 60 

Tips,  postcards,  etc.  1.35 
Lunch  to  take  with 
us  1.60 

THIRTEENTH  DAY'S  RUN,  NORTH  PLATTE  TO  CHEYENNE 
(MAP  No.  13) 

Cheyenne,  Wyo.    Plains         Cheyenne.      Plains    Hotel 
Hotel   (brand  new).  garage. 

269 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 


PERSONAL  MOTOR 

Tips,  as  usual $1.75  Storage   $  .50 

Dinner  and  tip 3.85  20  gals,  gas 4.40 

3  single  rooms  and  2  gals,  oil 1.20 

baths    9.00 

Coffee  and  toast  (in 

room,  for  two) . .     .90 
Breakfast  (E.  M.).  1.00 

FOURTEENTH  DAY'S  RUN,  CHEYENNE  TO  COLORADO  SPRINGS 

(MAP  No.  14) 
Lunch     Denver.      Brown's 

Palace  Hotel $3.60 

Colorado  Springs.    Antlers 
Hotel. 

Usual  tips $1.75 

An  average  dinner 
(3)  4.80 

Drive  over  "high 
drive"  (motors  not 
allowed)  (for  3).  6.00 

Tip  to  driver .50 

Enormous  double 
room  with  dress- 
ing room,  bath. . .  6.00 

Single  room  and 
bath  3.50 

Coffee  and  toast  (in 
room)  .70 

Tip 25 

(Especially  attrac- 
tively served.) 

Breakfast  (E.  M.) 
(averaged) 95 

Tip  25 

Valet  (pressing  all 
our  clothes)  ....  8.00 

270 


Colorado    Springs.      Mark 
Sheffel  Motor  Co.  (high- 
est class  garage). 
Take  off  pan,  stop 
leak,    crank    case 

and  gaskets   $8.80 

Vulc.  case 4.50 

Greasing  and  tight- 
ening bolts. 

7  cups  grease 1.40 

1  pt.  kerosene 05 

1  pt.  cylinder  oil. .     .05 

3  days'  storage 1.50 

35  x  4  B.  L.  Repub- 
lic red  tube 7.35 

4V2  B.  0.  patch...     .90 

22  gals,  gas 3.30 

3  gals,  oil 2.40 


DAILY  EXPENSE  ACCOUNT 

PERSONAL  MOTOR 

Laundry $6.20 


FIFTEENTH  DAY'S  RUN,  COLORADO  SPRINGS  TO  TRINIDAD 
(MAP  No.  15) 


Lunched,  Pueblo. 

Vail  Hotel   $3.00 

Trinidad.  Hotel  Cardenas 
(our  first  of  the  Har- 
vard chain  of  hotels). 

Am.  plan,  3  good 
rooms  with  3  baths 
and  good  "Ameri- 
can cooking" 
meals  ($4.50)..  .$13.50 

$1.50  deducted  for 
lunch  we  were  not 
to  have. 

Tips   1.75 

Incidentals,  movies, 
etc 1.30 

Lunch  to  take  with 
us  1.60 

Las  Vegas.    The  Castaneda. 
(Did  not  telegraph 

ahead,    so    could 

not   get  baths). 
3  rooms  ($3.25) ..  .$9.75 
American  plan 

(lunch  deducted). 
Lunch  to  take  with 

us   1.50 

Tips   ...  1.75 

Telegrams,   sundries  2.50 


Trinidad  Novelty  Works  Co. 

Storage  $  .50 

14  gals.  gas.  (15c.)  2.10 
2  qts.  oil .40 

Las  Vegas,  145  miles. 


Las  Vegas  Auto  Co. 

Storage   $  .50 

15  gals,  gas 2.50 


271 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

PERSONAL,  MOTOR 


SEVENTEENTH  DAY'S  RUN,  LAS  VEGAS  TO  ALBUQUERQUE 
(MAP  No.  17) 


Lunched  Santa  Fe. 

(Own  lunch.) 

Albuquerque.     Hotel  Alva- 
rado. 

Usual  tips $1.75 

Telegrams  and  sun- 
dries   2.80 

3  delightful  rooms, 
3  baths,  supper 
and  breakfast 

($4.25  each) 12.75 

Extra  amount  of 
food  to  take : 

Eggs    60 

Cake 80 

Sandwiches 2.10 

Cocoa  . ., 20 

Ice  cream  .  .30 


Santa  Fe  Transcontinental 

Garage. 

2  men,  1^  hours, 
patching  muffler 
and  exhaust  and 
tightening  bolts, 
etc $2.25 


EIGHTEENTH  DAY'S  RUN,  ALBUQUERQUE  TO  WINSLOW 
(MAP  No.  18) 


Leave  Albuquerque.  Out  in 
desert. 


272 


Albuquerque.  C  o  1  e  m  a  n 
Blank  Garage  (A  1  gar- 
age). 

2  men,  4  hours  each 
(night  labor,  dou- 
ble rate),  mend- 
ing leak  in  radia- 
tor, taking  off 
exhaust,  filling 
grease  cups,  etc. $6.00 


DAILY  EXPENSE  ACCOUNT 


PERSONAL 


Winslow,     Ariz.       Harvey 
Hotel. 

Rooms,      including 
meals   $10.50 

Tips  (most  of  lug- 
gage shipped  with 
car)  1.25 

3  tickets  Winslow  to 
Los  Angeles 65.85 

Extra  tickets  Wil- 
liams to  Grand 
Canyon 22.50 


MOTOR 
1     front     spring 

shackle  bolt    ....  $50 
18  gals,  gas  in  tank  5.40 

10  gals,  in  cans 3.00 

4  gals,  oil 2.80 

(First-class  garage.) 
Winslow. 

Car  shipped,  via  A.  T.  & 
S.  F.  R.  R.  Freight  to 
Los  Angeles.  Perfect 
system  for  motor  ship- 
ment, no  crating  and 
no  delay. 
Freight  charge.$151.20 


BY  TRAIN,  WINSLOW  TO  GRAND  CANYON 
(MAP  No.  19) 


Lunch,   Williams. .  .$3.30 
Grand    Canyon,   Ariz.     El 
Tovar  Hotel. 

2  rooms,  bath  be- 
tween   $10.00 

1  room  and  bath..  5.00 
Including  meals. 

Mule  down  Angel 
Trail  (E.  M.)...  4.00 

Moving  pictures  ex- 
hibited at  studios 
of  trip  through 
Colorado  river  . .  3.00 

273 


Car  on  freight. 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 


PERSONAL 

Tips,  per  day,  about  $1.25 
Sundries,  etc,    ....  1.80 


MOTOR 


BY  TRAIN,  GRAND  CANYON  TO  Los  ANGELES 


Drawing  room,  Pull- 
man   $14.00 

Lower  berth,  E.  M.  4.00 

3   breakfasts    2.60 

Tip    30 

3  lunches   3.15 

Tip 35 

Los  Angeles.       Alexandria 
Hotel. 

1  hallboy  (most  lug- 
gage in  car) 25 

Dinner  (very  simple; 
for  three)  7.80 

Theater 6.00 

1  room  and  bath, 
inside  and  dark..  7.00 

1  very  small  outside 
room  and  bath,  but 
perfectly  good 
room 4.50 

Breakfasts  and  tips 
and  luggage  down  2.70 

Hiring  a  motor  to 
move  to  Pasadena 
(while  ours  being 
repaired)  10.00 

Stopped  with  friends, 
but  beautiful  hotels  in 
Pasadena. 

274 


Car  on  freight. 


Los  Angeles.    Smith  Bros.' 
Garage    (highest   class 
garage). 
Result  of  desert : 

1  front  spring $11.00 

Tire  and  tube  vul- 
canized   2.50 

Exhaust  pipe  brazed  6.10 
Exhaust  pipe  weld- 
ed and  repaired; 
install  new  gas- 
kets and  assemble ; 
dismantle  muffler, 
repair  and  assem- 
ble; paint  muffler.21.50 

2  gaskets 90 

Wash  and  polish..  2.50 
21  gals.  gas.  (8c.I!)  1.68 

1  gal.  oil 1.00 

To  charge  battery..     .50 


DAILY  EXPENSE  ACCOUNT 

EESUMED  MOTORING.     SHORT  RUN  LATE  IN  AFTERNOON, 

PASADENA  TO  RIVERSIDE 
PERSONAL  MOTOR 

Riverside.       Mission     Inn. 

(The  most  enchanting 

hotel!) 
3  rooms,  baths,  and 

food   $18.00 

Tips  and  sundries    3.60 

TWENTY-THIRD  DAY'S  RUN,  RIVERSIDE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 
(MAP  No.  23) 

San  Diego.     U.   S.    Grant         White  Star  Motor  Co. 

Hotel.  Storage,  3  days $1.50 

Dinner $3.00  20  gals,  gas 3.20 

Tip 35  1  gal.  oil .80 

(Average  day.)  Wash  car  1.50 

Hallboys,  luggage 
up  and  down 1.75 

Chambermaid 75 

3  rooms  and  baths.  14.00 

3  entrances  exposi- 
tion (night) 1.50 

Electric  chair 2.00 

Breakfast   (3)    ....  2.95 

Exposition,  3  en- 
trances (morning)  1.50 

Electric  chair  (whole 
day  and  held  all  3 
of  us)  4.00 

Lunch  at  Exposi- 
tion restaurant  (3)  1.50 

Tip 30 

Indian  Village 75 

Panama  Canal  (3).     .75 

275 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

PERSONAL,  MOTOR 

Various  side-shows, 
etc $6.30 

TWENTY-FOURTH  DAY'S  RUN,  SAN  DIEGO  TO  SANTA  BARBARA 
(MAPS  Nos.  23  AND  24) 

Lunched  in  car  on  road. 

Santa  Barbara.    Hotel  Santa  Barbara.    El  Camino 

Potter.  Eeal  Motor  Co. 

3  rooms  and  baths,  25  gals,  gas $2.50 

a    day,    including  Storage,  3  days 1.50 

meals     (none    of  Oil  (1  gal.) 80 

which  we  took; 
lunched  and  dined 
out  every  day). $21.00 

Bringing  coffee  to 
room  and  tip 45 

Lunch  to  take  with 
us  the  day  we  left  1.50 

Ice-cream  at  drug- 
gist's in  thermos 
jar 30 

Sundries  and  tele- 
grams   3.10 

TWENTY-FIFTH  DAY'S  RUN,  PASO  ROBLES  TO  MONTEREY 
(MAP  No.  26) 

Paso    Eobles,    Cal.      Paso         Paso  Robles.    Pioneer  Gar- 

Robles  Springs  Hotel.                 age. 
Rooms    with    baths  15  gals,  gas $3.30 

and  two  meals ;  no  Storage   .50 

luncheon    charged 

for   $12.75 

Lunched  at  the  R's  on  our 
way.  Much  farther  out 
of  our  way  than  we 
thought,  and  had  supper 

276 


DAILY  EXPENSE  ACCOUNT 

PERSONAL  MOTOR 

at  Salinas;  had  cocoa, 
toast  and  omelette,  plenty 
of  it  and  very  good  for 
75c.  for  three. 

TWENTY-SIXTH  DAY'S  RUN,  MONTEREY  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO 

Monterey.  Hotel  Del  Monte.  Monterey.   Hotel  Del  Monte 

Booms   (perfectly  Garage. 

vast)    and    baths,  14  gals,  gas $3.08 

American  plan .  .$18.00  Storage 50 

Tips  and  breakfast  Oil 90 

tray 2.50 

Lunch  to  take  with 

us   1.60 

Sundries    .  ..  2.00 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
HOW  FAR  CAN  YOU  GO  IN  COMFORT? 


was  the  original  query  that  we  started 
out  to  answer,  and  second  *  *  How  long  did 
it  take  you?"  is  the  question  that  has  been 
asked  us  more  often  than  any  other. 

Interpreting  '  l  comfort  '  '  as  really  meaning  '  *  lux- 
ury," you  can  go,  so  far  as  roads  are  concerned, 
only  to  Pueblo.  So  far  as  high-class  hotels  are 
concerned,  there  are  two  inhospitable  distances. 
The  first  from  Omaha,  Nebraska,  to  Cheyenne, 
Wyoming;  the  second  between  Albuquerque,  New 
Mexico,  and  Winslow,  Arizona,  over  three  hundred 
miles.1  Between  Ash  Fork,  Arizona,  and  Needles, 
California,  the  distance  is  one  hundred  and  ninety- 
one  miles,  which  over  those  roads  is  a  long  dis- 
tance, but  perfectly  possible  to  make  in  a  day. 
Also  it  is  by  no  means  necessary  to  motor  across 
any  of  these  sections,  unless  you  choose  to.  Put- 
ting a  machine  on  a  freight  train  is  a  very  differ- 
ent matter  from  putting  it  on  a  boat  and  shipping 
it  to  Europe.  In  the  latter  case,  you  have  to  have 
a  crate  made  as  big  and  clumsy  as  a  small  house  ; 
then  there  are  always  delays  and  complications 
about  catching  boats,  and  altogether  it  is  some- 
thing of  an  ordeal.  But  to  send  a  motor  across 

1  See  Map  No.  18,  pp  302-303. 
278 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

our  own  country,  for  as  short  or  as  long  a  dis- 
tance as  you  please,  is  very  simple.  You  have  only 
to  drive  it  to  the  railroad  station,  roll  it  on  an  au- 
tomobile freight  car  with  a  door  at  the  end,  as  in 
a  small  garage,  take  the  next  passenger  train 
yourself  and  skip  as  many  or  as  few  miles  as  you 
choose.  In  America,  automobile  freight  is  won- 
derfully efficient,  and  is  about  as  fast  as  ordinary 
express.  (At  least  the  Santa  Fe  service  is.) 

We  spent  only  two  days  at  the  Grand  Canyon 
and  the  car  arrived  in  Los  Angeles  at  the  same 
time  we  did.  There  is  only  one  deterrent  to  fre- 
quent freight  shipments:  the  cost.  Automobiles 
weigh  a  good  deal  and  the  freight  charges  are  by 
the  pound.  From  Winslow,  Arizona,  to  Los  An- 
geles— a  distance  of  613  miles — costs  $151.20  for  a 
car  weighing  4,000  pounds.  A  2,000-pound  car 
would  cost,  of  course,  exactly  half  that  amount.  If 
you  don't  want  to  go  into  the  desert  where  hotels 
are  great  distances  apart  and  roads  are  not  the 
smoothest  in  the  world,  a  3,000-pound  car  costs 
$133.20  from  Albuquerque,  New  Mexico,  to  Bar- 
stow,  California,  after  which  there  are  plenty  of 
good  hotels  and  beautiful  California  roads.  The 
above  freight  rates  will  be  of  interest  to  very  few, 
as  except  in  case  of  accident  or  some  unseen  condi- 
tions no  one  who  can  help  it,  will  want  to  see  their 
car,  housed  like  a  lonesome  and  abandoned  dog,  on 
a  freight.  If  it  is  a  very  crippled  car,  that  is  dif- 
ferent ;  it  is  more  like  leaving  it  in  a  nice  cot  in  a 
hospital,  where  it  can't  get  hurt  any  more. 
279 


HOW  FAR  IN  COMFORT? 

But  on  the  subject  of  cross-continent  freight, 
by  which  many  people  may  want  to  ship  their  cars 
home,  the  Transcontinental  Freight  Company's 
offices  in  Chicago,  New  York,  San  Francisco,  etc., 
have  a  special  rate  for  through  shipment  of  auto- 
mobiles that  is  a  very  good  thing  to  know  about. 
They  ship  three  automobiles  in  one  freight  car, 
and  for  cars  weighing  4,500  pounds  and  over, 
they  charge  a  maximum  rate  of  $225.00,  or  $5.50 
a  hundred  pounds,  from  New  York  to  San  Fran- 
cisco or  vice  versa.  A  car  weighing  3,000  pounds 
would  cost  $165.00. 

The  sole  objection  to  this  consolidated  car  load 
shipment  is  that  they  only  send  out  the  cars  when 
they  have  three  auto  consignments,  and  you  may 
have  to  wait  a  few  days  for  the  other  two  car 
spaces  to  be  filled.  Also  their  service  is  only  be- 
tween the  most  important  terminal  points.  If  you 
live  somewhere  in  the  middle  distance  between 
these  terminal  cities,  it  might  be  cheaper,  as  well 
as  more  convenient,  to  ship  by  regular  railroad 
freight. 

SOME  DAY 

Some  day  we  are  going  back.  Celia,  E.  M., 
and  I  have  planned  it.  We  must  have  plen- 
ty of  time,  and  take  our  whole  families  with 
us,  so  that  she  will  not  have  to  hurry  home  to  a 
husband,  and  I  will  not  have  to  rush  on  without 
pause,  in  order  to  get  home  to  a  younger  son. 
280 


BY  MOTOR  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

When  we  go  again,  we  are  going  in  two  cars — one 
to  help  the  other  in  case  of  need,  and,  if  possible, 
a  third  car  to  carry  a  camping  outfit — and  camp ! 
Celia  and  I  both  hate  camping,  so  this  proves  the 
change  that  can  come  over  you  as  you  go  out  into 
the  West.  I  say  "out  into,"  because  I  don't  in 
the  least  mean  being  tunneled  through  on  a  lim- 
ited train!  The  steel- walled  Pullman  carefully 
preserves  for  you  the  attitude  you  started  with. 
Plunging  into  an  uninhabited  land  is  not  unlike 
plunging  into  the  surf.  A  first  shock !  To  which 
you  quickly  become  accustomed,  and  find  invig- 
oratingly  delicious.  Why  difficulties  seem  to  dis- 
appear ;  and  why  that  magic  land  leaves  you  after- 
wards with  a  persistent  longing  to  go  back,  I  can't 
explain ;  I  only  know  that  it  is  true. 

The  taste  we  had  of  the  desert  has  something 
so  appealing  in  the  reminiscence  of  its  harsh  im- 
mensity by  day,  its  velvet  mystery  at  night — if 
only  we  might  have  gone  further  into  it!  We 
couldn't  then  and  now  it  is  lost  to  us,  three  thou- 
sand miles  away ! 


LIST  OF  MAPS 

PAGE 

Map  showing  the  entire  route  by  days' 

runs  ......     284 

1.  New  York  to  Albany  .         .         .         .285 

2.  Albany— Fort     Plain— Utioft— Syra- 

cuse   286 

3.  Syracuse  to  Buffalo     ....     287 

4.  Buffalo— Lake  Erie— Cleveland  .         .     288 

5.  Cleveland  to  Toledo     .         .         .         .289 

6.  Toledo  to  South  Bend         .         .        .290 

7.  South  Bend  to  Chicago         .         .         .     291 

8.  Chicago — Rochelle— Davenport    .         .     292 

9.  Davenport — C  e  d  a  r    R  a  p  i  d  s — Des 

Moines       ......     293 

10.  Des  Moines  to  Omaha        .         .  .294 

11.  Omaha  to  Grand  Island       .         .  .295 

12.  Grand   Island  to  North  Platte     .  .     296 

13.  North  Platte  to  Cheyenne     .         .  .297 

14.  Cheyenne  to  Colorado  Springs  .  .     298 

15.  Colorado  Springs  to  Trinidad     .  .     299 

16.  Trinidad  to  Las  Vegas         .         .  .300 

17.  Las  Vegas  to  Albuquerque        .  .     301 
IS.  Albuquerque  to  Winslow     .         .  302-303 

19.  Winslow  to  Grand  Canyon         .  .     304 

20.  Grand  Canyon  to  Ash  Fork         .  .     305 

21.  Ash  Fork  to  The  Needles     .        .  .306 

22.  The  Needles  to  Barstow    .        .  .307 

23.  Barstow — San  Diego — Los  Angeles  .     308 

24.  Los  Angeles  to  Santa  Barbara     .  .     309 

25.  Santa  Barbara  to  Paso  Robles     .  .     310 

26.  Paso  Robles  to  Monterey     .."•;.  .311 

27.  Monterey  to  San  Francisco         .  .     312 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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DATE  SEN 

"£L-L~  "  6tAS 

FEB  07  1994 

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DATE  RECEIVED 


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DUE  3  MONTHS  FROM 
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SEP  3  01999 


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